


whisper your love into the void where i won't hear it

by Theyoungertwin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sorry), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Draco Malfoy is Russian (stay with me here), Draco is too posh, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kelpies, M/M, Magical Creatures, Pansy Parkinson is a Good Friend, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ron Bashing, Some Fluff, Some Plot, Suicide Attempt, Veela Draco Malfoy, bad things happen, comfort oc, harry is a hopeless romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27922225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyoungertwin/pseuds/Theyoungertwin
Summary: Draco Malfoy has a few secrets. Well, a lot of them really.He's not really Draco Malfoy. Well, at least he wasn't always Draco Malfoy; he had a brief life before that.With the ending of the war and imprisonment of most death eaters, Draco is forced to return to Hogwarts in order to complete his parole and his eighth year, only he keeps being dragged around by the ministry who really hope he slips up, acts out, so that they can finally sentence him to life.Harry wants Draco to commit to something for once in his life, and Draco doesn't want to hear Harry's 'I love yous' because, quite frankly, there just isn't the space.He wants to tell Draco all of it, share his adoration for the crevasses of his personality, but instead, they play a game of cat and mouse, and Draco isn't blinking first.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 28
Kudos: 59





	1. The gloriousness of a train in the depths of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is (clearly) my first time writing on ao3 so I do apologise for the absolute shit show of tags and the description - it gets better, I promise. Effectively, most of this takes place in eighth year and IS a love story (wow, shocker) but it does also have a plot! (somewhere) It may take a chapter or two to actually get to the action (setting the scene is of course necessary) but I hope it'll be worth the wait. There is an awful lot of angst because I love the it, but there will also be fluff! Please let me know what you think and thank you for reading!

Draco Malfoy was special. He was special in his blood, his lineage, his wealth and even his looks. He was someone no-one seemed to forget, no matter how hard they tried to. He was not someone Harry Potter could forget. He could not forget him in the way that he revelled around his own heart, the kind of way that seemed to light his body on fire, send ghosts of shivers down his skin. He knew everything about Draco Malfoy, and that included the uncomfortable truth that Draco did not love him back, not in the way that Harry wished he would. Draco Malfoy was special because he was the man that the saviour of the wizarding world was so helplessly in love with. He was special because he knew Harry loved him and had the fucking audacity to be annoyed and even inconvenienced by the fact, as if it were something that would not go away, despite Draco’s best intentions.

Azkaban, Draco decided, really was worse than Malfoy manor. At least in Malfoy manor he had the option to off himself whenever he so pleased. He couldn't here. Not safely. Not without the guilt following him to the next life, if there was one.

He stared with dead eyes at the wall in front of him. He really wished he had had the foresight to throw himself off the bridge in the battle, lest he be left to rot here. (he was being dramatic. He had only been in Azkaban for a week.) He was sure he had lost more weight than was healthy for someone of seventeen, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care. In the miserable cell he was in, he really couldn’t bring himself to do much at all, really.

The dementors weren’t anything new; hell knows, he had lived with them for over a year, but the cell was. It was cold, wet, and damp, and he was almost certain it was one of the worst cells that they had. When the waves crashed and broke to harshly, they sounded like the cracking of a whip which was always sure to send a spike of adrenaline through Draco, and because of all the unfortunate acts he had committed, the location of his cell meant he could feel the salty spray of those waves.

He was never dry. Just wet and cold and miserable. He didn’t want to go home; he didn’t really have one anymore. What he had was the shell of his childhood, cracked in too many places for the hope of fixing it, and now it sat like a heavy, broken ornament. Like something on display only for the reason of showing what would happen if you weren’t careful. He hugged his knees tighter, wishing that the breaking of the waves would cease so he could finally have his serenity.


	2. Serenity is never as close as you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the lengths of these chapters, but it's the only way I really feel able to structure it safely without falling apart. Warning! Death is referenced a lot in this, so please don't read if you are uncomfortable with that! This is also purely Draco centric.

Serenity. It had taken a while for Draco to learn that word, really, because he learnt words when they were tied to certain emotions, events. He had to spend a long time searching for serenity in that way that children wonder and ask questions that they are far too young to fathom. Was he ever that young? He didn't think so.

Serenity: The goal of meditation, where you reach perfect peace and calmness of the mind. He was eight when he tied this word to something. Serenity looked white to him, fresh fallen snow that glinted in the weak sunlight and blinded him in its purity. The stark contrast between the plumage of a peacock and the deep white. He wanted to sink into it, to let it consume him.

It looked like the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, coiled around you core. It felt like dying in the calm of the undisturbed.  
Nothing moved. The peacocks were gone, but there was still the afterthought of them, the idea of the royal blue. Serenity looked like complete numbness because that's what it was to Draco. It was dying.

It was always so far when he reached for it, but right there when he was... elsewhere. It felt like serenity here, in his cell. The cold, numbness of it all. Draco wanted to sink into it, to let it rescue him from the mar of scratches across his arms, to let it save him from everyone. In this cell, it felt like dying and Draco was perfectly aware that that was why they had put him in it. They wanted to starve him of everything, break him down till he was nothing but a shell. Something shifted inside of him, moaning in supressed pain. Draco blinked blearily at the wall.

He let himself sink into the serenity of it all. Let the white consume him as it had done before. Peace. Calm. He sighed gently against them and didn’t even feel the crack in his head as he fell to the floor.

Draco Malfoy had not always been Draco Malfoy. He had once been someone very different. He had once been a boy named Nikolai Lebedev, son to a Russian whore and raised in a brothel. Some may argue that it would not have been the proper way to bring up a child, but Draco would argue that they were the happiest years of his life.

Nikolai's mother, his real mother, had unfortunately passed away during childbirth, essentially orphaning and his half brother, Damien. For six years he had prospered in Russia, living with those other souls in the brothel. 

Lucius Malfoy had been a very accomplished man at the age of thirty-three. He had a rich and honourable wife, a large fortune and an enviable job. What really should have been next was an heir, because it was only proper that he should have the perfect heir. As it transpired, Narcissa was unable to bear child, and no magical treatment would ensure her safety if she did. It was not fit for a pureblood to adopt, nor was it fit that he should take on a mistress to have his heir, and so they were stuck in an awful loop of wondering what they were to do about this unfortunate situation.

They had gone to Russia. Lucius had deals that needed to be signed, and Narcissa accompanied him, because she had wanted to see Russia, see its wonder. One night, Lucius had slipped out and found that same brothel in which Nikolai had resided. The same brothel he had visited six years previously. 

He was, of course, welcomed gracefully, because he was not loud or drunk, nor was he far to old, and, in fact, many of the girls there didn't mind fancying him. The large sums of money also helped him get through, letting his name only be muttered in the quieter corners of the room.

"I'm here for Calina Lebedev." He had said, smiling at the girl who sat opposite him on a worn sofa. The girls eyes had gone soft.

"I'm very sorry sir, she is no longer among the living." She had replied through a thick accent. Lucius frowned. Another girl had then come up behind the one that he was talking to and whispered something in her ear, stealing occasional glances at Lucius. Then she had left, and it was just the original girl sitting opposite him again. He smiled in a way that would prompt one to eloquently display what the topic of interest was about, but the girl just sat there, looking occasionally at the door in disbelief. 

"Is there a problem, miss?" It was an annoyed smile, now. The girl, to her credit, had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Very sorry sir, but I have just been made aware of something. I belive you visited her six years ago?" Lucius nodded, with not quite eagerness. The girl nodded back. "We believe that you have a son. Nikolai." And that was the moment that Draco Malfoy's life went to hell.


	3. The great revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take this because my friend doesn't like me, but is reading this anyway. When you read this J: "c'est la vie!". This is actually more parental fluff (be warned! it gets so much worse.) Again, sorry for the short chapters, but they will pick up the pace soon, hopefully. My best writing normally comes from writing Draco and Harry interacting, so please stick around to see that!

Nikolai had been sitting is room when Marie had came to fetch him. He was reading a somewhat torn book on the origins of magical creatures, shivering under his blankets against the cold of the Russian winter. He looked up when the girl breached his doorway, looking nervously feverish. He had been six and not particularly self aware, so he followed her without any better thoughts. Looking back, he really ought not to have.

He still remembered the look on his father's face when he saw Nikolai for the first time. It hurt more than scar running down his chest and seemed to compress his heart uncomfortably. His father had looked upon him which such unbridled joy that Nikolai had found it hard not to run to him, to envelop him in a hug. He remembered everything his father had said, even though he had not yet spoken the language. 

"My son. My son! You perfect miracle, you're going to fix everything!" He exclaimed, grabbing Nikolai and twirling him, as fathers often do with their sons. Nikolai giggled and held on tighter. Marie had smiled ruefully from behind them, watching with a longing glint in her eye. She had shown Lucius back Nikolai's room and they had sat down on the shoddy bed which creaked and waned under their combined weight. 

Lucius, using a translation charm, had described in detail of the wonder of what he would give Nikolai back in England, the wonder of the manor and his riches. Nikolai had listened, shiny eyed and quiet, because he had been taught that it was wrong to speak over men, and that it was even worse to speak over rich ones. He listened to the description of his room, large and so far unadorned, lying in wait for him. Nikolai marvelled all of it, the riches that he could have possession of. They didn't even need to do a test between them, because it was so painstakingly obvious that Lucius was his father in all of his features. 

When Lucius had left, he had pondered the idea of Nikolai's heritage. Of course, he was Calina's son, and so there was no question about the fact he was a half-breed. This did displease Lucius, but it also did have its own advantages. In his childish features, it was already clear that he was not, in fact, a normal wizard. His skin was as pale as Lucius', even paler perhaps, and seemed to possess the glow of the moon. His hair was blond, unnaturally silky and also seemed to glow lightly, even in the dim of the room and just through the edges of it, the glimpse of ears that were longer and more pointed than any humans should have been. Lucius had grey eyes, and so did Nikolai, though they looked more to him like the iridescent of perhaps an opal stone. 

A problem, yes, but a particularly beautiful one. It was a shame he didn't have a sister. Such a pretty pair they would make. Glamour, though, would fix it, and he would, of course, be of strong magical stature and so find it easy to maintain at all times. Narcissa seemed to be the only problem in this situation. She welcomed him back into the rather large manor that they had borrowed from a friend with a gentle smile on her face, all the hesitation of a perfect wife. He did not say anything.


	4. The hesitation of a wife is the evil of a mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still sorry about the chapter lengths - as these are mainly backstory and scene setting, they will be pretty short, but I promise they're going to get longer soon! Hope you enjoy! Warning: abuse - read at your own risk (it's not too bad)

The prospect of an actual father seemed so glorified to Nikolai that he didn't dare doubt the gift that had been lain in front of him. Damien watched him with a childish envy that still seemed to not interrupt their relationship, but Nikolai felt it. Lucius had swept in everyday of the week to whisk Nikolai somewhere new and exciting, and Nikolai loved the unconditionality of it. 

"Nikolai," Lucius had said on the fifth day. They were still using translation spells, and so it came out in perfect Russian so that Nikolai was able to understand. He angled his small head up to look at Lucius as best he could whilst they were walking down a snowy pavement. He nodded. "I belive that at the end of this week, you should meet your new mother." Nikolai had marvelled at that, too. 

"A new mother?" He asked. Lucius came to a stop an knelt before Nikolai so that they were almost at eye level. 

"Yes. I'm sure you will love her very much," Lucius breaths came out in clouds of steam, because it was night in a Russian winter. Nikolai had always wanted a complete family. He didn't dare say anything that could jeopardise himself. "She even has a new name for you," Lucius had smiled, turning Nikolai around gently so that they were both facing the same way, and had pointed up at the sky over his shoulder. "Up there, there's a huge sky dragon," He had explained, using practiced wandless magic to connect the dots before Nikolai's eyes. "It's called Draco." Nikolai had understood that.

"My name is going to be Draco?" He asked. He'd liked the name from the moment he had heard it, the grace and power it possessed. Though, he supposed, it had probably back then just sounded cool to a six year old.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. You'll be our proper son, then, in name as well." Lucius hadn't been looking at him, but Nik-Draco had been able to tell he was smiling. It contained a family name, his father's name, and he had loved. Unconditionally. The joy of course, was yet to meet its obstacle.

At the end of the week, just as he had promised, Lucius took Draco to go and meet Narcissa for the first time. Draco had been living of the highs of joy, as if nothing could dull the shine in his eyes. Only Lucius called him Draco so far, though he had told them his name was going to change from Nikolai. Lucius had shown up, immaculate as ever, and Draco had put on the new clothes that had been bought for him and were 'more fitting for a Malfoy'. 

They had side-a-longed to the outside of an expensive looking manor, and it had been the first time Draco had really seen the extent of his new wealth. Lucius had taken his hand and led them to the grand oak door, which Draco remembered purely because it was the largest door he had ever seen at that point in his life. It no longer seemed very big to him. He had let Lucius go ahead in front of him, for he was scared of what may lie on the other side of the door. He was right to be.

Narcissa came forward gracefully and smiling, a greeting such as, 'I hadn't expected you back so early!' on the tip of her lips. Then she saw Draco behind the tactical retreat of Lucius' legs. Draco was sure that Lucius would have been smiling. She stopped short and gave Lucius a searching look that only nobles seemed to pull off: hands folded slightly in front of her and a raised chin that was only ever so slightly cocked. Draco had mastered that look, but added a glare to erase subtlety. 

"Lucius," She had said. Draco had thought she had a wonderful voice. "There appears to be a child with you." It was perfectly even speech, only understandable due to wandless translation spell, and you would not have been able to take any tone from it. Draco at that age himself was unable to decipher the tone. Only Lucius, he suspected, would have been able to gauge how distressed she was by the pre-notion of a child that looked in his young age, exceedingly like him. He didn't need to see Lucius' to know it was smiling.

"This is Draco," He said, arm curling around Draco's shoulders and thrusting him forward. He stumbled slightly, and with his head angled down, pupils up, he met Narcissa's gaze. He still remembered it. Whereas Lucius' had been unbridled joy, hers was unbridled fury. Her fists clutched at her sides. Draco wanted to run away. Lucius didn't need to finish his sentence; Narcissa knew exactly what was going on. "He's fixed everything for us. He's the perfect heir, and he's mine. There's only a little problem involving his blood, but other than that, don't you think he's wonderful?" The tone had been the expressive love that was often the type children yearned for, but all Draco could focus on was the anger in Narcissa's eyes as she watched him.

"He's a half breed." Narcissa said, voice still somehow even.

"Naturally. His mother was, but I do believe it will work in our favour; he's even more powerful, incredibly rare and quite the asset." Narcissa snapped. It was the angriest Draco had ever seen her. In fact, he thought, it was probably the only time he had seen her angry, truly. She grabbed Draco's shoulder an thrust him roughly to the side, striding up to Lucius with a fire blazing in her eyes. She began to scream at him. Being a child of six, Draco found the whole scene, quite frankly, upsetting. He wasn't that sensitive anymore. He covered his ears and shrank himself on the floor where he had been thrown and cried as Narcissa screamed at Lucius. Lucius, however did not scream back. Draco wasn't that unknowledgeable, he had seen people scream at each other before, but it was always at each other. Lucius returned angrily, but he maintained his cool the best Draco had ever seen.

"HE IS NOT MY SON!" Narcissa screamed, shrilly. She was halfway between crying and blowing someone up. "NOR WILL I EVER TREAT HIM LIKE ONE!" And it was at that point that Lucius snapped to. He slapped her so hard that she fell to the floor and clutched at her face. She panted and lifted her chin to look at him. Tears were running down her cheeks. Draco watched horrified from the corner he had curled up into with wide eyes. It didn't need words, and apology or an explanation. It wasn't even followed by Lucius screaming at her some more. He turned sharply on his heel and strode away purposefully. Narcissa let her head drop.

"Come along, Draco." He called without turning around, like he knew Draco would follow him. As Draco began to uncurl himself, Lucius left the room through a large door angled at the back of the large entrance hall. He could still hear Narcissa's quiet sobs from where she lay, draped gracefully across the floor, face buried into the crook of her elbow. Draco's cheeks were wet with frightened tears, but he wiped them away and ran as gracefully as he could towards his father's disappearing footsteps.


	5. The screams in my head are louder than yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get more into the action! We have finally reached present day, and from this point, we'll probably be switching from Draco to Harry's p.o.v. Thank you so much for reading!

Draco found that his eyes were harder to wrench open than he had thought they would be, harder to uncover what lay before them. His head hurt and his body was stiff. (Dissociation, as the healers would later call it. Complete loss of the conscious for granted periods of the time, during which he was still aware of memories and ideas.) The glamour had held, though, he thought whilst glancing down at his hands, forcing them up to the tips of his ears. 

A slam echoed in the next cell along. Draco bolted up, on his feet before his mind could even react to the sudden change in atmosphere. He could feel the dementors outside, feel their draining black holes of depression. Then someone was screaming. He blinked. Ran to the cell door where he had a gap marred by bars. His hands grasped the steel as he pressed his head as close as he dared to the openings. 

There was a dementor out there, floating by the opening of the next cell along with the door flung open. The man was still screaming as he was dragged on his knees out of the open door by another two dementors who showed no sign of care. Draco blanched. It was Fenrir Greyback. He hadn't realised who had been next to him, but had no right to feel sorry for the man who had tortured him countless times. He felt a growl build up in the back of his throat, tongue touching on teeth that definitely weren't human. He supressed the feeling. Greyback screamed and begged, but the dementors didn't do anything other than continue their methodical path down the corridors. 

He looked back at Draco and screamed for his help. This the dementors did stop at, turning to look at Draco as if they expected a rise, a fight, anything. Draco just watched Greyback with his sullen grey eyes, getting across the single point: I don't care. Greyback howled and Draco turned away from the cell door, hit with anther chilling wave. He steadied his breathing and sank to the floor again, pressing a hand to head where he had hit it. No permanent damage, which was good if he wanted to live. He was a bit indifferent over that now, to be honest.

Days blended into weeks, and after the chorus of screams and echoes, Draco was dragged out of his cell by two dementors and escorted by another two aurors. Clearly someone thought he was going to make a break for it, to try and escape. He did not, just focused on keeping his eyes on the floor and putting one foot in front of the other after a month of misuse. He was dragged to a small holding cell room within which was his mother, hollow eyed an thin. 

The deal had been that Draco would get a month in Azkaban and that his mother would a week, but they would be at intervals. Draco would go first and as soon as he was out, his mother would go in. Something about keeping them apart for as long as possible, and making sure that the manor always had a keeper. Draco suspected his mother had bribed them off. 

"Draco." She said. Her voice was even as ever, and she met his gaze steadily. There was no waver in her voice, but he could tell she was deeply disturbed. 

"Mother." He returned, inclining her head. The cell door was opened so that they might be allowed to touch each other. Draco walked over to where Narcissa sat and set himself down beside her. She was shaking. He put an arm around her shoulders and she lay her head across his own shoulder, one arm on his back. 

"How are you feeling?" She asked, perfectly monotone. Civility, she said, is the key to success, but too much raw affection will be your downfall. She had wished more for a girl than a boy.

"I'm fine, thank you mother. How are you?" He wasn't fine. They both knew that. He was quite frankly surprised she was even touching him, given the state of himself.

"Very well, thank you." Her voice was quiet, but not subdued. She was afraid of speaking out of place, but she knew better than to let that show, especially in front of aurors. They stayed silent for a while after that, just sitting there in the misery of their lives and the holding cell of a ministry prison. Draco wanted to scowl. "Draco," Narcissa said again, and then stopped.

"Yes?" He responded. Answers often needed to be coaxed out. It was either something vulnerable, or something that he didn't want to hear. He guessed that it was the latter.

"The ministry requires your services for a raid." Draco stilled, inhumanly stiff. He wanted to be released. Narcissa must have sensed this because her grip on his back grew stronger. 

"I'm sorry, I don't quite follow." He ground out, willing himself not to snap at the next person to walk in. 

"They're raiding a black market for the illegal sale of magical creatures and beings." Her hand was rubbing his back, now. The auror guarding the door nodded at him. 

"Time to go. We're told you can find it, so you're going to accompany us." His voice was rough and gravely, but not cruel sounding. Draco hoped that his mother had been treated well under him. There was no real space for the 'I love yous' that were exchanged under quiet confidentiality, but they were said anyway. He was pleased to see that the dementors made no move to grab and drag his mother, and that she walked with an air of grace and dignity that none of the other prisoners had.

The auror took his arm gently and led him out of the cell. Just a precaution, the guard had said when Draco had looked disdainfully at the arm on his bicep. 

Leaving the institute of Azkaban was both like a breath of fresh air, and like being crippled. His eyes tried to adjust to the light too quickly, and he squinted in the midday September sun. It was warmer out here, but he was still wet. Damp and miserable.

He was helping them out for the raid, so the least they could do was let him shower and change. He voiced his opinion to the auror, who agreed that he really should be allowed to, just not at the manor. There were only specific apparition points he was allowed to use, apparently. 

He was, eventually, allowed to shower and change into some of his own clothes (thank Merlin) in a ministry shower room, which he did not like. The shower was cleansing and he like the feel of the hot water washing away the blood and filth, but he did not like the fact he only had ten minutes to do so. He made a mental not to languish in a bath for hours as soon as he got back home. 

As soon as he was out, the aurors directed him to the side-along apparition point, but made note not to touch him. They were still very close, of course, but they didn't touch him. The auror who'd taken him from Azkaban (Sam, Draco remembered) smiled at him from Draco's left side. It wasn't cruel though, it was warm. 

When they arrived at the apparition point, they landed in a field. Draco remembered this field. His blood almost ran cold, but it needn't have because of course, he was here to break the place apart. He didn't even need to get involved, apparently, just point the aurors to where they might find the entrance. He curse his mother who had decided to volunteer him, though he knew it was done to try and boost his status. 

"Mr. Malfoy." An older auror said, walking up to him from the group that was preparing. There were at least fifty, Draco noted. He nodded back at the man. "Your services, I'm sure, Will be invaluable." It was said with withheld rage. Draco was sure the man would very much like to slap him.

"I'm sure it will. Merlin knows how long it would've taken without someone to show you." It was said so that it might be an insult, but Draco let it sound pleasant so that the man could do nothing but glare. No-one asked how he knew where it was. 

"Ready when you are." Sam said from behind Draco. It appeared to him that Sam might be quite important. Good. All the aurors turned to look at Draco who glanced back at them all with an even gaze. A quick turnaround. 'Presentation is the key to success.' His father had once said, slapping Draco after he had fallen to the floor in pain. He bit through the pain now.

He wandered through the empty field to the outlines of the trees and stepped gracefully into the undergrowth. He heard muttering and slurs being thrown at him from behind, but they weren't meant to be audible and so he let it slide. Sam walked beside him and it occurred to Draco that he might be trying to get along with him.

"How far now?" He asked as Draco sidestepped a holly bush. Draco nodded at a tree in front of them, forcing Sam's eyes to flicker away. 

"That tree there. That's how you'll get in." It was a large oak tree with knotted roots tumbling over one an another, and if you tapped it in the right places with your wand, it open up and let you into the market. Sam still did not ask how he knew where it was, only nodded and called the others over to where they stood.

"This?" The man from earlier said. Draco could tell he would take any opportunity to slam his head in. Draco disliked the man immensely. 

"Yes. Just tap your wand a few times and away you go." He muttered sarcastically, loud enough so that they all could hear. 

"A trap!" Someone called out, and soon it was a flurry of yelling at how it was a bad idea to bring him along, and that he should probably be murdered. Draco sighed. People were so vanilla with their insults nowadays. He'd heard all of them at least ten times before. He had to admit though, it was exceedingly weird that on the day of his release he would be taken by aurors to 'bust a black market'. Something had to be up. Slurs were hurled at him, but he stood, chin thrust out in disdain. 

"You don't have to believe me." He said in a drawling accent. "Of course, you'll never find it if you don't use this tree, but who am I to dictate you." He sourly though of how many ways he could dispose of the squadron. The man glared at him.

"Why don't you open it for us?" It was a predatory smile. It was the same one Lucius used to have. Draco scowled at him, but made no further comment as he tapped the tree in the right places. There was an awful creaking noise as the bark pulled away to reveal the one way opening that led to the market, noises of shouting and the hope of illegal salesmen drifting unsatisfactorily from it. Draco went to turn around, to say 'There, you see?', but all he saw were hands shoving him roughly back. His reflexes were good, but not good enough, so all he was able to before hitting the floor was twist himself around so that he might land on his hands rather than his spine. He tried to push himself up, but once his eyes met the crowd who had heard the 'thunk' of his body, he froze. Someone somewhere shouted to catch him, and a few eyes definitely recognised him from a previous incident, grins widening like a cats. He only managed to push himself up and reach a fighting stance as they struck.


	6. To be an ornament of popular desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could it be? A comfort character who was supposed to be edited out has returned from the depths of creative hell? Apparently so. This is more plot coming together (hopefully) and more action for your benefit!

The traders did not even come close to Draco, they just paced and threw spells which he dodged with varying success. The aurors, after a few seconds of this, charged through and hurled their own back, but not without a few 'accidental' missteps and shoves to his body. Sam helped him to the side. 

Draco had only seen chaos like this in the war. He found it hard to breathe. Its just, there were so many people, they were all fighting, there were people screaming, and there were children here, because how were they supposed to know any better?

He didn't faint. He didn't black out. He just- stopped. He stood there, blank behind the eyes and watched everything unfurl around him with no reaction. 

They did, of course win after about a fifteen minute chase. They were aurors, after all, and these people were only smugglers and vendors. Not skilled, not against them. They were all arrested, tied and bound with magic cords that held them in place.

The sound of metal vibrations rang through the market, and as he came back to it, Draco realised that it was the sound of the beings and creatures thrashing against their cages, clanging on the brittle bars to be let out. Some, he noted with interest, weren't magical or special at all. One of the faces was a boy he had briefly seen at some gala a few years ago, who appeared to be being held for ransom. His face was dirt streaked and terrified as he called for the aurors to come and let him out. None of them paid attention, much to wrapped up in the capture of the vendors and customers.

He walked over to the cage the boy was being kept in; not long enough for him to lie down in, and just tall enough for him to stand up in. The boy looked at him wide-eyed and then glanced down to the lock on the door then back up again. His hands withdrew from the bars and he stepped as far back as the cage would allow, looking still with his pleading blue eyes. The aurors were still to per-occupied to notice Draco snap the lock and open the brittle door. 

"Very helpful." A voice said from behind him, and before Draco could snap, he turned around and saw that it was Sam. 

"None of you were being so kind as to help him." The drawling accent was back, and it sounded fine. No tremor, no giveaway. Sam just smiled. 

"You can have as much of a go as you can at letting them out of the cages, we won't be done for a while. Direct them over to the entrance way ask them to wait there. Just- try not to let anything potentially dangerous out, ok?" Draco rose an eyebrow dubiously. Sam didn't reply, just shrugged and headed back to where the rest of the aurors were. 

He turned around a few times to scan the market. There were a lot of eyes on him, and half were fearful. The cages were, unhelpfully, not labelled, and so he tried to make an educated guess as to who was what. He gave up eventually and just headed to end of the row. There was an assembled apparition point for the aurors to take the 'merchandise' starting already, the boy from before leaving Draco's side and running to the first auror waiting. They disappeared within seconds. 

The cage on the end was large and appeared to be filled by a... Horse? A very angry horse, upon second consideration. It was huge, much taller than Draco, and had to be at least twice as big as a normal horse. It didn't have normal eyes either; they were amber and glowing, intelligent, and watching everything Draco did with a unwitting glare. It threw its head back and screamed, pawing at the floor. Another senior auror came up behind him.

"Kelpie." He said, gruffly. It wasn't the same discontent that the others seemed to have, but it was in no way as kind as Sam's. "Leave it in there. We'll have to come back and dispose of it later." The kelpie was, of course, watching with intelligence. They were beings, after all.

"And why is it going to be disposed of?" He asked, trying to regard the kelpie with feigned disinterest. The man raised an eyebrow.

"It's a kelpie." He replied, as if that was enough explanation. The kelpie looked cautiously, no longer rearing, but pressing itself against the back of the cage. Draco made a noncommittal sound and the man nodded, turning away. 

"Well, you're a bit fucked then, aren't you?" He drawled out, leaning glacially against a table opposite the cage. The kelpie glared furiously at him and snorted, though Draco could sense its fear. There was nothing he was supposed to be doing as such, he had only had to lead them to the market, not help with their fucking clean up. It wasn't his job. And so, like any sane person, he started talking to the kelpie. "You know, I've never actually met a kelpie. Do you even have a name?"

It gave him a searching look. Draco put up one of his hands from where it was crossed and raised an eyebrow. The kelpie gave an annoyed snort and nuzzled its coat. 

"Fur?" Draco asked. The kelpie looked thoroughly pissed off for something that was soon to be executed for simply existing. They'd of course argue that kelpies were dangerous and a hazard, and that there was nothing that they could do for it, and they'd of course get away with it. It nuzzled the bars and almost everything before blinking at Draco, looking directly at his eyes. "Ah." Draco said. "Grey, then?" Grey, apparently, rolled its eyes and gave a small gesture that might have been a horse nodding. "Well Grey, I'm Draco, and I'd say we're in a similar situation." Grey cocked its head. "I'm a little fucked, too. Just got out of prison about two hours ago." Grey gave him a look that Draco really didn't want to interpret. 

A loud shout rang out behind him. It was another kelpie, huge and black with a straggled mane rearing and shrieking within a group of aurors who appeared to be berating a new recruit for letting it out. Grey pressed against the far end of the bars and seethed. It fell, great a huge with a resounding slap against the cold stone.

"Ah." Draco said again. His hands shook. Grey looked terrified, and stuck its head through the gap in the bars, throwing it around. Draco took its head in his hands and stroked it gently. He hummed, more to himself than anything really, a song he remembered from Russia, a haunting melody that accompanied his dreams at night. 

Then he had an idea. He let get of Grey's head and ran to the awkwardly set up stall behind it, leaning over to grab something that really ought to be there. His hands found the fabric, and he grasped it, bringing it up to where he could see it. A bridle. A magically altered bridle. Grey sneered at it as well as it could whilst being a horse. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware you wanted to die. I don't have to put this on you; in fact, I'm not obliged to help you at all, I'm doing this all from the goodness in my heart." If Grey could roll its eyes, Draco was sure it would. "Yes, well I'm sure you'd feel like that." He imagined Blaise and Pansy watching him talk to a kelpie. He shoved away their laughter. Actually, he thought, they'd probably just be dull about it. It wasn't as if it were a normal horse that couldn't understand him; Grey understood him perfectly. 

Grey watched him with its unsettling amber eyes. 

"If you bite me, I will kill you." He said, holding the bridle just outside of the bars. Both could see the fragments of truth, and Grey knew it would be a death sentence if it bit Draco. 

He was surprised at how pliable Grey was beneath his hands, how his head would turn this way and that as he tried to do up the bridle. He supposed that Grey was just doing it so that it could escape. Draco supposed he would have done the same. It was awfully fiddley through the bars of the cage, and he couldn't quite move as he wished, but wishing was for those with the luxury of a backdrop to see to. If he went away wishing, he supposed he'd be looking very kindly upon the roof of the manor. He pushed away the thought.

"There. Not a half bad job. I'm used to it- I used to ride, did you know that?" He found himself saying, gushing rather quickly despite the fact that this was a kelpie, and he was a perfectly sane human being. Well, perhaps not human. Not entirely. Draco glanced around, trying not to catch the eye of any auror who was currently leaving him alone. "Well, that's us. If you run off, we're both dead." Again, both of them understood that that was true. They did not acknowledge the fact. He grabbed the lock on the door, but it was a lot stronger than the one that had been on the boy's cage. Draco cursed and rubbed his hand. It smelt like metal. 

"What happened to 'potentially dangerous'?" Draco's expression darkened sourly and he exchanged a look with Grey, mouthing the word: 'busted'.

"Grey's not potentially dangerous." Draco drawled out, aggressively posh. He had to admit that an old fall back strategy was to fall heavily upon his father's heritage, though he suspected that this was more to do with the accent being beaten into him, and most times his aggression appeared to be aimed at his father, and needed to have a safe fall back. "Think about it really; aren't they the victim in this situation?" Sam, to his great surprise, laughed.

"His name's Grey? Did you name him?" Draco watched the expression on Grey's face, but after seeing it not be affected, he decided that Grey was in fact, male. 

"Of course not. He told me." Draco still refused to turn around.

"Alright, so what's going on now? Going to spring him loose and then what?" At this Draco did turn around. Of course, he had to think of an answer, and so, he came up with the most obnoxious one he could. 

"He's going to be my guard dog. Who's going to come after me now that I have a kelpie protecting me? We've already agreed on it and I've promised him rather a large lake in the manor grounds at home. He would of course be eating animals and not humans, I'll see to it." He explained it all as if he were describing to the board at home why they should be having afternoon tea instead of a full meal; breezy and with the confidence that said: 'I don't need your confirmation, I've decided it all already.' Sam looked unperturbed. 

"You know you can't tell people you have a pet kelpie." He said. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Why, if you wanted to negotiate the terms, I would be quite happy to agree to certain conditions." Grey snorted. The kelpie was fucking laughing at him. Sam appeared to be thinking for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. 

"Can you prove that he isn't dangerous?" He asked, and amused expression on his face. Draco stuck his chin out and folded his head to the right.

"Is that a challenge?"

"I suppose it is." Draco watched Sam with narrow slitted eyes.

"Open the lock for me, then." Sam watched him with guarded eyes and reached slowly to the lock with his wand, a small 'click' resounding in the small lock. The door swung open just a fraction, enough for Grey to push his way through. Draco knew that more than one pair of auror eyes were on him, a fact he was very conscious of. 

Grey seemed bigger when he wasn't in the cage, more wild too. His mane was unkept and knotted same as his tail, and most of his coat appeared to smeared with dirt and blood. Someone should have really told them that when selling something, make sure it looks its best. Draco put his hands up, ready to be braced against soft fur, just like he used to do with Ursa. Grey turned his head to the side, watching him with just one eye. Draco glared at him. The eyes burnt into the back of his head. He knew what happened when he failed. He knew he had to do anything necessary, anything, hurt anyone to succeed. If he could just have enough control and-

There. He grabbed the object in front of him with his mind's eye. Everyone was standing behind him, he was at no danger of having them see his face. The glamor in just his eyes dropped, revealing their silver iridescence and he whistled once for Grey to come. He obeyed.


	7. The beauty of your face will haunt my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I admit it, this is basically just fluff. There will be more moving on action and such starting next chapter though, so please do read on!

Grey's muzzle was warm and matted under his long fingers, and Draco could feel the warm puffs of breath down his arms. There was muttering behind him, scandalised yelling, but all he could allow himself to focus on was Grey. He would prove his worth yet. Sam started laughing behind him.

"I recon he ought to be able to keep the kelpie." He said. Of course Sam was high up, but Draco really doubted it was 'forgive the death eater his murders and past ailments; instead we'll give him a muggle eating creature, because why shouldn't he have one?' It retrospect, it had been a shitty idea. Hindsight, his father had said, is the worst sight. An uproar went out behind them and it was loud. Draco wanted to cover his ears. He glamoured his eyes again, letting them slip to the grey of the steel bars. 

"Mr. Williams, are you proposing that we allow him to keep the creature?" It was the surly man who had been leading the group. Draco took his hands away from Grey's muzzle and moved them down to his neck, patting it gently. Mud caked off. 

"What harm can a kelpie really do when under supervision? Wizards aren't at a risk from being killed by them, and I doubt there are any muggles on the property of Malfoy manor in the middle of no-where in Wiltshire." Draco made a noncommittal half laugh that did not reach beyond Grey who watched him sceptically. He really was rather fucking tall, Draco thought, stroking his neck and wondering how on earth one would mount a horse this large. He zoned out of the rest of the argument, though it couldn't have lasted very long because his fingers weren't as filthy as they should have been if they had left it for a while. Draco hoped Grey didn't mind water magic, because he was definitely going to need pressure washing. 

"You get to keep him." Sam said, patting Draco's shoulder. Grey looked like he wanted to kill Sam, to create and uprising, but he stayed perfectly tense and rigid.

"Of course I do. Did you really think that me relinquishing him was really an option in the debate?" He dragged out the 'really' to make his point. Sam laughed again. Since he was doing it so often, it started to unnerve Draco. "Anyway, when am I being allowed the liberty to leave? It really is fucking awful here."

"I can take you to Malfoy manor, if you want. I'm going to be your parole auror anyway." Draco wanted to ring his eyeballs out of his skull. A fucking parole auror. He wondered how eager they were to get rid of him. He disguised his disgust with a mildly disinterested glance at Sam's robes.

"Fine. You'll have to side-along me though, because I don't have a wand." He said it as pointedly as he possibly could manage, and luckily, Sam got the hint.

"Your uh- your wand was broken." He at least had the guile to look guilty about it. Draco rolled his eyes. 

"My other wand?" He asked expectantly. Sam just stared at him. "Oh for fucks- If I were allowed a wand, would you give it to me?" Sam nodded dubiously. "Perfect." Draco seethed. "Now, I don't particularly want to spend another second here, so if you would be so kind as to let me home, I'm sure that I would be positively amicable." Grey also seemed rather unhappy at the prospect of being called a pet, but kept his anger in check. Draco felt very fortunate, or rather, lucky that his own stupidity was not leading to drastic consequences. He also feared that it would soon let up. 

Malfoy manor looked as imposing and eerily beautiful as it had the first time he had seen it when Sam apparated them back. Grey stood perfectly still, but he was trembling, and it was not, as far as Draco could tell, from fear. 

"I'll leave you here?" Sam asked reluctantly. Draco gave him a look that he had perfected over the years, a look that said: 'If you don't leave me the fuck alone in the next two minutes, I might snap your neck.' His words were perfectly civil, though. 

"Yes that would be fine, thank you." Sam nodded, and with a crack, he disapperated. Draco let out a large sigh and rubbed his face with a hand wearily. He wanted to take a long bath and sleep in his own bed for twenty hours. Grey kindly reminded him that, no, that was not going to happen. 

"Now what." Draco near jumped out of his skin at the voice. It was husky and low, but also hesitant. There was no longer a huge horse behind him, rather there was a teenage looking man with knotted grey hair down to his waist. Amber eyes watched him uneasily. He was also only wearing a what appeared to be a woven skirt made from Draco assumed to be seaweed. 

"Well darling, welcome to the Malfoy estate." He drawled, throwing his arms wide in what could have been a sarcastic gesture. Grey's facial expressions seemed to match the ones he made as a horse and came together as a sort of half way frown. "First matter of business is cleaning you up, and then we can talk about living arrangements." Draco didn't watch Grey's expression, he just turned away and strode toward the manor. A peacock trilled from the garden and he was hit with a sudden rush of fear. "Don't touch the peacocks unless you would like to meet a swift demise." 

"Wouldn't touch a peacock. No meat." The speech patterns seemed rough and unused, and Draco had to remind himself that kelpies spent most of the time in a horse form. "Why am I here? Why help? I don't understand." The tone was vaguely distressed, but not overly so. Draco stopped and turned around slowly. Grey had taken on a stance that was both offering and dominative, a show of gentle submission in the most regal way. Draco knew it well. He let out another sigh.

"I didn't want you to die there, I'm not that bad despite what the papers may offer." He hadn't dared asked for the prophet, imagination spurring a small panic that constricted his chest when thinking of what they may have written about him. Grey didn't seem convinced. Draco threw his head back in annoyance. "Here, look." He let the glamor drop away from his body entirely. "I'm like you." Grey's eyes grew wide and his hands fluttered at his sides, aching, Draco was sure, to touch him. 

"No- but-" Grey said, clearly at a loss for comprehensible words. "You can't be, they're dead-" Draco rolled his eyes.

"As they say, news of our death has been greatly exaggerated." The glamor felt nicer off, and he was reminded of the freedom he had in his own house without his father present. 

"Are you from a cult?" Grey asked, jogging somewhat and then slowing to a walk beside Draco.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, clipped and precise. Grey shrugged, but didn't take his eyes off Draco.

"I once met a rare vampire sub-species who were in a cult." As if that were all the explanation needed. Draco didn't even respond; he saw no valid reason or reply. 

They walked in vague silence through the high bushes that lined the path to the front door, through the big wooden doors that led to the entrance hall. Draco had to supress the repulsion in his chest and another panic. Weakness, his father had said, should be shown to no-one, they will use it against you. He led Grey up the grand staircase. He remembered running up and down them as a child whilst his mother still clung to her own chambers, when Lucius still seemed to be the father who loved him unconditionally. Once, he thought, he had tripped and fell down the entirety of the stairs and broken a rib and one of his legs. Lucius had ran out of his study to find him, and Draco was sure that was the last time he had seen pure affection on his face, as Draco tried to stand on a broken leg with no complaint and no tears. 

"This here, is the entrance to my quarters." He said, gesturing to an ornate door near the end of the corridor at the top of the stairs. Grey nodded. Kelpies were normally well kept up to a point, so Draco could only assume that it was the market making him this filthy. He opened the door which led into a large living room combined with a study, two doors on opposing sides of the rooms. "Wait. I'll go fetch you a towel and something to wear." Grey gave him a look that was not quite appreciative or a glare. It was quite a bland expectant look, and Draco took it to say 'yes of course kind sir, I will wait here patiently, you have been so good to me'. Of course, that's not what it meant, and Draco knew it, but there was always the glimmer of imagination that daunted the corners of his vision. 

He came back a few moments later, holding a small pile of some of his own clothes and a pair of shorts. (It was quite undignified to wash someone, but Draco needed something therapeutic and rhymical.) Grey looked distastefully at them.

"Really?" Grey raised an eyebrow. 

"Unless you would much rather walk around in my presence dressed like that." He said it with as much distaste as he possibly could, though he didn't truly mind. It wasn't as if anyone other than them were in the house, and Grey did have a nice body. Though that, he supposed, was also due to the kelpie's natural enhanced beauty. A low growl rose in the back of Grey's throat, but it was neither malicious, nor did it make itself prominently known. 

The door to the bathroom opened revealing one of Draco's favourite rooms. There was a large built in marble tub attached to the sides of the wall, the sides rather long so that one could sit on them, the back wall not a wall at all, rather it was panes of green enchanted glass so that you could not see in, but you could see out, and so that creatures roamed across them. It was the only room in the house that was not old fashioned, and it was the only room that did not mar his mind with memories that lurked in the shadows. 

It filled quickly with warm water that curled and steamed, green and blue mixing pleasingly against the white backdrop. The potions he used in he bath were held in ornate crystal glasses, antique and expensive, frivolous gifts from the south of France that they had visited when Draco was thirteen. He turned around and commanded Grey to change into the shorts provided. In turn, he rolled up the ends of his trousers to his knees and took off his jacket, rolling up also the sleeves of his shirt. Grey, to Draco's high amusement, looked rather haughty and embarrassed at that. 

"Well go on." Draco prompted, pointing at the bath. Grey muttered something under his breath that might have been 'twat', but got in anyhow. Draco moved to perch on the tiles at the side of bath. The green window let through dim September sunlight that dappled both of their features in a pretty way, the kind that people took photos of. Grey sat obediently in the water, straight backed an still, hands waving through the green and bubbles, flicking up droplets of warmth. 

Draco used more potions to get the grime out of the long knotted hair, often alternating between an ivory comb and French products. By the end, his hair was clean and no longer matted, but his body (the parts that weren't submerged, at least) was still a filthy mess. Draco sighed and glanced at his soaking fore arms and the many products he was using and decided he really did not have the patience to wash the rest of Grey's body. 

"Right, I'll let you get on with the rest then." He shook out his arms over the bath, though a lot of the droplets flicked randomly around the room. Grey turned around to look at him with round eyes.

"What, is my body not to be washed?" He asked, cocking his head in genuine enquiry. 

"I am the only heir to the Malfoy pureblood family and my wealth is so extensive that I could buy ten different kelpies instead of you. What the fuck makes you think I'm going to wash your body?" He asked, glaring at Grey from where he was standing in the middle of the room. Grey seemed to turn red and looked away, long hair hiding his face.

"I don't know how to do it." Draco look astounded.

"It's literally soap and fucking water, how could you possibly not know?" He drawled. Grey started sinking further into the water, a kelpie instinct, Draco was sure. "Fine, fine, whatever you want. But you have to do something for me." he turned back and let his feet sink once again into the soapy water.

"What did you want?" It wasn't quite freely offering in its tone, but it wasn't closed off. 

"Let me ride you." Grey turned around remarkably quickly, red and somewhat flustered. Somehow, sex euphemisms were not lost on him, but the notion of washing was. Draco threw the sponge at him. "I'm not asking to fuck you, you absolute idiot, I'm asking to ride you as in horse riding!" 

It did take a minute to, well, resolve the matter. After they eventually had finished arguing over the matter of 'No Grey, I am not asking to fuck you', Draco resumed to washing Grey's body, and afterwards, his face. 

"I hope you realise these are my favourite French products." Draco said whilst moving onto his face. Grey made a non-committal sound of gentle pleasure and enjoyment as the grime was removed by warm water and soft hands that feathered over his face.


	8. Then from the formless sea with dripping limbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst! Just when you thought you were safe! Tw for panic attacks and suicide - please don't read if you are uncomfortable with either of those. This chapter is quite short, but that's because there is more to come tonight!

Draco, as it had been decided, had two weeks of house arrest before he returned to Hogwarts on the first of October. He felt optimistic about the first week, but his mother would be back for the second week, and he had yet to have an idea on how to entertain her. He hoped she would stay in her room as she always seemed to do during the war, simply milling around the same parlour over an over. 

Grey, he had also decided, needed a room and clothes, but he was so far unable to obtain either. He left the bathroom with a sigh and his own clothes to let Grey dry himself and change. There were so far plenty of drying charms, but Draco was sure that Grey would weasel his way put of it and beg for Draco to dry his hair. Well, beg was a strong word, but Draco was sure he would end up seated somewhere in his own parlour combing through Grey's long hair.

There was a small curse from behind the bathroom door, and when it opened, Grey emerged looking sincerely annoyed and with dripping wet hair. 

"Don't." Draco said. "Sit there." Grey obeyed. He summoned a towel and sat in the chair behind where Grey was seated on the foot rest and got to work, alternating again between the towel and the comb until the hair was satisfactorily dry. (he had done this a lot for Pansy in school, so he was used to it, though Pansy didn't have nearly as much hair as Grey did.) 

Once he had finished, he put it up into a ponytail (yes, he was aware of the irony) and bound it with a long Malfoy pin which his father had given him, to match the one he had. At the top, it had the Malfoy crest and a snake winding down the long pin to the sharp point, adorned with emeralds and made, Draco was sure, from obsidian. It looked nice against the grey backdrop, nicer than it had against Draco's more golden hair. (Pansy loved to tell him that it really looked more white than gold, but he was still hanging onto the fragile hope it was blond.)

"Thanks." Grey said from his relaxed position on the foot stool. Draco was quite certain he had near fallen asleep. 

"Alright then, I'll need to sort you out room wise next." He reiterated. He had told Grey that he was going to need somewhere to sleep, but he had been bitterly ignoring it since then.

"Don't you have a lake?" Grey asked. He turned his head so that his body was facing Draco. He had been made to sit on a foot stool (a comfortable one) because Draco was not sitting on his bed and braiding hair like eleven year old girls. 

"Of course I do, did you doubt me?" He drawled out, making sure it was known who was in charge in this situation. 

"Well, I'll sleep there then." Draco must've looked stricken because Grey then gave him an odd look.

"You can't sleep in the lake." He finally uttered. He was completely for Grey having a normal habitat for a kelpie, but if they were to spend any time together, Grey could not be in the lake. It was one of the reasons he had dragged Grey along. He, in turn, received a glare.

"Why not?" It was the first time Grey had sounded careful and precise, the way Draco enunciated things when he wanted it to be known that there were consequences for not getting his way. Draco, however, really did not have a good answer to that question, so he stood and turned sharply.

"Fine. Do as you please, it's round the back of the manor. I trust you can find it?" Grey did not respond, but from where Draco stood looking over the manor grounds beyond the window, he heard the not so subtle shuffling of feet, the creaking of his carved wooden door, and then the click of the its close. He let out a breath into the empty space, one that seemed to echo around the room without the comfort of people to distil it. 

Quite how he found himself in his next dilemma, he was unsure of. He was dressed hurriedly but well, a long cloak fastened at the base of his neck, the large jewel sitting there comfortably and cold, as the feel of metal against skin often is. He was standing at the top of the stairs, that he knew, but how he got there feigned mystery, for he could not think through the panic. Someone was screaming. He clutched his ears hoping to block out the sound, but instead it grew louder, shriller. He ran to escape the sound, but poor judgment and the dizzying fear that gripped him clouded his vision, and he fell before he was barely halfway down. 

He lay there for a few moments, breathing heavily. The sound stopped, but now he was astutely aware of a stabbing pain in this arm and head, the bruised feeling of his body. Bringing his arm up to his face revealed just red, warm and metallic dripping off his fingers. 

Blood. In his hallway. On the stairs. He stumbled up, clutching his injured arm with his right one, clutching at his throat with the other. He couldn't breathe. He was suffocating, he was dying, he'd done this before. 

There were more people screaming now. They were screaming because they were being tortured, and he was doing nothing about it. They were dying, and he allowed it. They even died at his own hands, knives through their throats, untraceable. Untraceable because it stained him. 

Draco gasped through the noise, and his back was against the cold wooden doors, and they were being wrenched open because his hands were on the handles. He let out a strangled scream as he did so, blood continuing to pour don. He wanted to feel light headed, to pass out, but the pain weighed him down, tethered him to consciousness.

The night was a cruel one as he stumbled into it. The stars bled into the swirl of blacks and greys, midnight blues blotted out by the heavy clouds that littered the sky. It was loud. So very loud. It was wet as well, and Draco could no longer tell what was blood and what was rain and mud. He wasn't crying, not quite, but he was gasping and screaming, eyes wide, and he had no idea where he was going, why he was going there. 

An image came to him, a stormy day and a dead face. He didn't even know whose face it was. His footing was even less sure of itself now, and he slipped on hard stone, falling to the earth in a loud snap. 

The world span. Draco curled in on himself, clutching at his throat and gasping. His head hurt. His mouth tasted metallic, it tasted like blood. The rain poured on, and so did his stream of conscious. He switched from a feverish murmuring of English to the rambling, screaming syllables of Russian, but the meaning was always the same. 

"I'm sorry!" he screamed to the rain, steady English script. "I didn't want them to die!" He paused for heaving breaths that didn't match the pace of his heart. "Я бы хотел умереть вместо этого!" 

Draco wasn't sure at what point he got up and left, but he must've, because the next time he came too, he was standing in front of the lake. It was freezing as he walked into it, and he didn't even know why he was doing it. Part of him wanted to run away to his mother's warm embrace in her parlour where the fire was always warm, and the other part wanted to sink to the bottom of the lake where he wouldn't have to feel anything any more.

His chest heaved with each step, quivering breaths not quite powering through his adrenaline. The cold stung, some part of him thought, as his fingers grazed the surface and he began to wade more than walk. Everything started to calm down. It was still loud, and the sound overpowered his ears, but now it was just the pound of rain against the lake. The screaming became shallower, lighter till it was no longer there, and the weight on his chest seemed to ease up and let him breath easier. His father was no longer telling him to beg for his life in English, a language he barely understood. The hot pain in his arm slowed and soothed to a cold numbness, and his clouded head seemed to flood with clear serenity. 

Serenity. He felt it here again, the cold of the water that was lapping at his neck. He hadn't even realised that he had gotten so deep. But the black water held promise to him, promise to make it stop. He reached for his serenity. 

His head disappeared beneath the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Russian is supposed to say 'I wish I had died instead', but please don't quote me on this as I have not asked the translation from my Russian friend like I normally do


	9. Here I sit with your demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, SO  
> I know this was also meant to be out yesterday and there was supposed to be a longer chapter today, but my brother had an episode, so I wasn't able to get much writing done, and so this chapter is criminally short as well, I do apologise, but there will be longer ones soon! The end also may be a little rushed because I really needed to get this out, sorry  
> Also: tw for death and suicide! Please don't read if you are uncomfortable with those!

Draco floated in the lake for a while, a formless shadow amidst the ripples of the tide. His eyes were open but glassy and unseeing, and rain continued to soak his attire and skin. That was how Grey found him, floating and cold, bleeding and broken. 

"Draco?" He asked the form. Grey was sitting on the surface of the water; he had travelled up at the quiet thrashing, the gentle violence that assaulted the shores. He had come up to the rain which beat down on his face. Grey smiled somewhat into the rain, a somewhat melancholic smile. He blinked aimlessly. He was sure that the form was Draco, for, who else would it be?

But living humans didn't move like that. Nor did the veelas.

Grey strode over the surface to where the body lay, thrust up by the current. Draco, he realised, was beautiful. Even in this state, his skin glowed akin to the moon, lighting the fragile water that lapped around him and illuminating his features in eerily alluring ways. The sharp jut of his cheek bones seemed sharper, his cheeks gaunter than they ought to be, but even this underweight seemed to suit him well in a morbid beauty.

Draco wasn't moving, but his eyes were open. The iridescence was there, but jaded. 

"Draco." Grey said again, rougher this time. He knew people weren't really supposed to be out in cold rain for long periods of time, especially when floating in lakes. He touched Draco's skin. It was ice cold beneath his fingers. Somewhere, he thought if this was what the humans were like before he killed them. His loose morals slipped away. 

He stooped down and gathered Draco in his arms, carrying him bridal style, breaking into a run towards the house, constantly glancing down to check if his expression had changed from mystically vacant to anything that would reveal he was alive. His chest wasn't moving.

The ground was wet and coated in layers of mud, but Grey's steps were much surer than Draco's, and he ran on without a problem till he came to he door.

Half of the entrance hall now seemed to be wet, the storm outside blowing in and swirling through the manor in an sharp whistle. There was blood on the stairs and at the bottom of them. Grey didn't know what to do.

The door slammed shut behind him, and he carried Draco as quickly and as carefully as he could to the rooms he remembered that they had used previously; the parlour and the bathroom. He lay Draco in the marble bath and took a moment to stare at him. He had no idea what to do, he realised. As a kelpie, he had only ever had to kill humans, to devour them. 

Grabbing Draco's shoulders, he shouted loudly for him to wake up, then shook his shoulders violently. No flicker of life. The muted pink that was more really of a grey had faded completely from Draco's cheeks, deathly pale and still shallow. 

Grey never was any good at healing magic. He had never been taught. He had seen someone rescued from his loose morals, though, but once.

Desperate, he tried to recall the foggy memories of what had happened, and suddenly he was kissing Draco, because he was sure that's what they had done. He placed his hands on Draco's chest, feeling the hard jut of bone beneath them. He pushed down, pulled back. He did it gain.

He lay his head down on Draco's chest so that his forehead rested atop his ribs, moving his hands to Draco's lovely face. He had never seen anyone he liked die. He had only killed indifferently. He wondered idly if this was what the crying figures on the shore felt when they came to visit the watery graves. 

A spluttering choke. Grey withdrew quickly. Draco's eyes were opened wide, pupils dilated, and he seemed to be panicking, clutching at his throat with an arm that shouldn't work. He was shivering violently, and Grey had the uncomfortable feeling that it wasn't because he had been found at midnight in a lake, in the bleak midst of September.

"Draco." He said, for, what else was there to say? It would be demeaning for him to ask of Draco's wellbeing, he was sure, and he couldn't say nothing and watch him choke. Draco swallowed, but it didn't seem to do much good as his lips pulled back in a grimace. 

All Draco could see was the icy black of the water, the push and pull of the waves as he disappeared more and more to the tides tyranny. Then there was the surface. It was so cold, but in a nice way. He wasn't even shivering, and he couldn't feel either of his arms, couldn't feel the red hot pain of the dark mark's brutal infection, the aching bruise of a new broken limb.

He sighed into the air, but it came out as a strangled moan of pain. He wanted to see the moon, see the stars, but all he could see were the overcast clouds, the hard lashing of the rain that he wanted to shield his eyes against, but his energy was sapped. 

It was getting darker, though, Draco was quite sure, it had started off very dark. His consciousness grew more and more vacant of coherent thoughts, mind replaced simply by one word: cold. Was he still alive? He couldn't tell.

The first time he had died, he had been painfully aware of it, but he hadn't panicked, and he hadn't been panicking. It wasn't quite calm, either. This time, nothing came to him. It was too cold to think. He didn't remember closing his eyes, but after all, he hadn't. They were still open and faced to the sky, pure gems in the tragedy of youth.

He had found that funny the first time.

Imagine, he had thought to himself, imagine being Lucius Malfoy and going to such lengths to secure an heir, and instead, you get a half breed Russian who ended up accidently drowning himself at the age of sixteen. It was ironic, he had thought. 

Then it was so much warmer, but it couldn't have been too much warmer because he was sure he was still in a lake. It wasn't a fact he was keenly aware of. There wasn't much anything he was keenly aware of. But he felt like he was on fire, and his chest hurt because there was weight on it, but it was gentle weight, like someone caressing his scars. Harry, he thought, loved to caress his scars. He never let him do it, not much.

Someone was saying his name, but it sounded far away, distant. Was that even his name? It must have been. Then he was choking again and his lungs couldn't work, but he wasn't panicking now because it was far too cold, so what was blocking them? 

Hands went to his throat, and he almost resisted before realising that they were his hands. He coughed and choked, felt his stream of thought coming back. He was dying, some part of him thought, but a conflicting part told him that, no he wasn't, he was coming back to life. 

There was someone standing over him, he realised, but he was much to wrapped up in the melodrama of dying that he payed them no heed. That was, until, he realised he was in a fucking bath. Who the fuck put someone who was drowning in a bath? There were a few things he was only just presently aware of, and the fact that it had been a lake and not a bath he had almost drowned in was, bizarrely, one of them. 

Everything still seemed slow and heavy, like waking up after sleeping for too long. The type where you only just manage to drag yourself out of the bed, even though you want to stay in the warm embrace of the bed longer. Draco looked upon death with fond admiration; he had no reason to fear it, and left the cold skeletal fingers that held him. It was easier the second time, he realised somewhere in his psyche.

It was Grey, after some profound moment of insanity, he discerned. His throat and lungs burnt, but he was at no danger of dying anymore (at least from drowning, he bitterly thought)

"Draco?" How many times had grey said that? Draco couldn't tell, though he was sure he had heard it at least once. 

"Grey." he tried to sound curt and imperious, but instead he choked n the word and had to grab the side of the bath to support himself while he hacked. He wasn't even sure when he had sat up. A searing arm touched his shoulder, pulled him gently upright. Grey was studying him. It wasn't quite affection, Draco realised, but idealised longing. Kelpies were lone wolves, for wont of a better phrase, but some had just been alone for too long. Grey didn't want him to die not out of affection or a grip on censored morals, but because he could use Draco as a sort of support system, use him as a pack bond. Draco couldn't even find himself disliking the notion. He leant into the touch, bowing his head. Droplets landed thickly on the marble base.

"I suppose you aren't dead then." And Grey, Draco thought, was just as perfect as Pansy and Blaise were. He almost backed himself into another corner. 

"No. I suppose you'll be a little unhappy that you won't receive a lovely corpse, but here I am." It was a long winding sentence for post-drowned Draco, but he got through it with minimal stuttering. He was good at this. He had had practice. 

Draco wasn't quite sure how long they stayed there in those positions; Grey kneeling on the floor beside the bath with a supportive arm around himself, keeping him upright in the bath. He didn't even know why they were doing it, but the more he became aware, the more he realised how fucking cold he was. It was his serenity cold, the kind that seeped into your bones and left frost across stiff joints.

They ran the bath again, pleasingly hot, Draco was sure, but he spent it in agony, writhing on in the thin puddles of the water where the shock of the warmth felt like the white hot metal of branding. Grey held his hand, an unsaid gesture.

He didn't ask to sleep in the lake again.


	10. As glass balls fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I have to change the chapter notes because this was supposed to be out a lot earlier? Yes. Did I procrastinate writing this by taking my brother into town to piss him off? Also yes. I have such poor time management skills that I'm actually famous for my many excuses.  
> Also - Thank you all so much for 480 hits! WOW! I just wrote this because the au was in my head for far to long and my brother told me to just 'quit being a pussy and post it' so thank you all so much for the support! This is my favourite drarry au, and will probably be the longest, but I will be posting other drarry stories when I can, because I have a few in the works. There will also, at some point, be a marauders era wolfstar fic, because it's a commission for my wonderful friend! Again, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

When Draco awoke the next morning, he was cold and everything hurt. He made a small moaning noise of discomfort and endeavoured to sit up and open his eyes. In doing so, it revealed that he had somehow slept in his bath despite the shallow puddles of water that covered the marble base. That explained the stiff feel of his limbs, but not the sharp pain in his left. In fairness, since living in Azkaban, it had always hurt.

Grey, he discovered, was also in the bathroom with him. He, however, was draped somewhat across the edge of the bath, having most of his body situated outside of it and on the tiled floor instead of inside with Draco.   
  
Draco did his best to gather his wits as well he could while lying in a bath after almost accidently drowning himself. He seemed to remember the sensation of lying on a bathroom floor and trying to gather himself. It felt the same. He blanked out Harry's screams.

Once he had managed to somewhat collect himself and sit up, he called for Grey to wake up.

"Grey." He said imperiously, loud enough so that it might wake the kelpie. It worked. Grey blinked slowly at Draco with his amber eyes, sleep blurring their angles.

"Draco." He replied. It was weighed down with the awkwardness of waking up and the uncertainty of talking to someone you had rather bizarrely saved from drowning himself. "Feeling better?" And it was the weirdest thing he had ever been asked, with the added stupidity of lying in a bath with a man who he had known for one day lounged half outside of it. The first time he had accidently done this, no one had asked him if he were alright, and to be honest, when they were all senior death eaters and the dark lord himself, he rather preferred it. At this point though, it was all he could do to keep a straight face.

"Would you mind fetching me my wand? Only, I think I've broken my arm and I would really rather not have to deal with it in the muggle way." His speech patterns were long and drawling, as they had always been, and it reminded him painfully of Sunday mornings spent in the secret astronomy room tower with Harry, talking about both everything and nothing.

"Where is it?" Grey's speech patterns were a lot blunter than Draco's, but matched the hardness that paired itself with the hidden jovialness of the general words. Where was it? It was a simple question, and yet Draco couldn't think to where it might be. Had he gotten it out last night? He wasn't sure. Grey seemed to sense his unease toward the general idea of the question. "I can track it down."

"Could you _really_? I've never really seen a kelpie work like that before." Grey didn't so much answer as turn into a large grey timber wolf and wander out of the bathroom. Draco let his head rest on the perch of the tiled sides, let his eyes fall shut again to ease the pain that enveloped him. And for a brief period, it did, and the pain slowly ebbed away. It was still raining outside.

Once he had his wand back and had managed to fix his arm (and his hypothermia, as it turned out), he decided that there ought to be an order of business which was as thus follows:

  1. Get changed
  2. Make breakfast
  3. Write to Harry Potter
  4. Sort out the entrance hall
  5. Find Grey a room



And so he did, like clockwork, as if he were back following an ordinary schedule as any teenage boy does, apart from the fact that it was really in no way normal.

He gave Grey the only hoodie he had to wear, because as much as Draco appreciated Grey's build, he wasn't sure he was entirely up for seeing it all the time. This left him to wear more sophisticated wear, namely a cream knit jumper and dark trousers. The jumper, he decided, was comfortable enough, but he really could do without the trousers. Grey had also managed to weasel himself the only pair of jeans that Draco owned, deciding that they would be more comfortable than trousers. He was wrong.

The breakfast he made was basic but nice, and he had told Grey that if he wanted to stick the illusion of a normal diet, he could go and hunt for a stag or something. He refused, and watched Draco eat instead, which was weird in an of itself, but Draco decided he could let that one go. He doubted he could have kept it together in the dining room without someone constantly there. Grey's presence, though he would deny it, was a balm to his inevitable loneliness and misgivings. Grey kept him steady.

Writing to Harry was probably both the easiest and hardest task, and was performed in the comfort of his own parlour whilst Grey messed around absently with a cushion that Draco had already pointed out several times as being designer.

_Dear Harry,_

_As I'm sure you are well aware of, I was released from Azkaban yesterday morning and allowed leave to return to the manor for two weeks before I re-join Hogwarts, which is, of course, something you are greatly looking forward too, because I do know how much my absence affects you, darling._

_I seem to be having a small issue at the moment which revolves around clothes, and I was holding on to the feeble hope that you might help me out. With no questions asked, I appear to find myself in the position of hosting a house guest whom I am currently unable to cater to in the aforementioned area. I will attach to this letter a list of clothes I would like, please do owl me back your preferred mode of payment, I would hate to put you out._

_I hope your studies are continuing to not be as abysmal as the last time I checked them, and hope that this owl finds you well. You are also welcome to owl me back in the mode of general conversation, but not inquisitorially, for I shall not answer the letter if you do. Am doing as well as can be expected, perhaps better, for your immediate question._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco L. Malfoy._

He then sent it off attached to the old family owl that had always stayed native to the Malfoy grounds; a great big European eagle owl that had once been named Perseus, after the constellation. He realised that the family did seem to have a lack of originality, but he liked the names, the same as he liked his. He had somewhat fond memories of watching the stars on summer nights with Narcissa, who had taught him to value the sky, and to know it like the back of his hand.

The entrance hall was a whole other beast, and in the end, he got Grey to clear it up whilst he configured a new sleeping arrangement that wasn't the other side of his own bed, as Grey had first suggested. Beds, he had told Grey in turn, are to be shared with those you value and trust. He had then promptly had a little bit of a panic because, well, what if Blaise and Pansy didn't like him any more? What if _Harry_ didn't like him anymore? He didn't think he could deal with the fallout.

It was around three o'clock in the afternoon when Harry's letter (and parcel) arrived at the manor. Both Grey and Draco had managed to finish all of their tasks early, making lunch an easy affair that was this time hosted in Draco's parlour in front of a young fire. Upon seeing the owl, Draco had set down his plate and excused himself to the privacy of his own bedroom to read the letter.

_To Draco,_

_Draco! I've missed you so much! Yeah, of course your absence affects me, wouldn't want to be without it, and yes I am counting down the days till you come back and I can finally see you again. I'm sure you'll be happy to know that Blaise and Pansy are doing the same. (I wasn't aware how close Pansy's scream gets to shattering windows - you should've seen her open the Prophet at lunch yesterday)_

_I really am interested to know who your knew house guest is, but you're so fickle that I know better than to ask, ha. I've packaged up the clothing (and a few extra bits as well) for you, so I hope you enjoy them, highness._

_It's great to hear that you're doing (somewhat) well, but I really don't know how I'm supposed to take that. As you would say, 'with a pinch of fucking salt, obviously' so that's what I'm going to do. You would let me know if anything had happened, yeah? Of course I wanna go into general mode of conversation, so owl me back, or I'm going to bombard you with specially trained owls, just to annoy you._

_Hope you are well,_

_Harry J. Potter_

Attached, bizarrely, was a picture of Draco from the prophet. It showed Sam walking Draco out of Azkaban, the single moment of unsheathed emotion, and he had no idea how they had gotten it. It was him looking out across the sea with something that looked like tortured pain in his eyes. It was signed on the back.

_Thought you looked good, like a tortured romantic poet. Can't wait to see you -H.J.P_

Draco smiled at the note, and it was almost enough to make him panic, again. He didn't though. He thought instead of Grey next door, of seeing Blaise and Pansy again.

Taking the now unwrapped clothes and seperating them into two piles, (One for Draco, the other for Grey) he called Grey into the room to look at them. He, at least, seemed to hold a great appreciation for them, though he did not see fit to share this enthusiasm with Draco. They did an odd sort of fashion show in which both of them were drunk and laughing far too much to fit in with eithers personality. Draco had always been fond of day drinking.

The stack of expensive French wine bottles grew and grew, and by the dying embers of the parlour fire, they slept together in a twisted way that one only achieves from going past a certain level of drink and self hatred. It was not hateful nor passionate, simply because each of them were there with no other way to show exuberant joy for absolutely nothing.

Draco did not write back to Harry that evening.


	11. If you loved me, you'd understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this took so long to come out, I've been really busy (hating my life) and have also just posted a new fic called 'wine bottles and smashed glasses' based on the musical 36 questions, so please do go check that out if you're interested!
> 
> We will be returning to Hogwarts in the next chapter, but for now, here's some of Narcissa and Draco's relationship for you after the quite awful first meeting that they had! Sorry that it's a bit of a shorter chapter, my life is absolutely hectic at the moment!

Draco did of course write back to Harry, he just couldn't really bring himself to do it that night. 

"Don't you have things to be doing?" Grey asked him, voice husky from sleep as Draco angled himself across the warm expanse of skin that was Grey's chest. He recieved no answer to his question, only a cat like glare and arms wrapping themselves around his body. 

"It doesn't matter too much, besides, mother is going to be back in a few days, and we can't do this when she's here." Draco's voice was also heavy from sleep, but in a way that was velvety and melodic, almost like his singing voice. 

"Why not?" Draco rolled his eyes glacially, not even looking at Grey.

"I'm not having sex with you whilst my mother is in the same house." Despite being genuinely confused at this answer (kelpies, of course, are mostly solitary creatures. Grey didn't know either of his parents further than vague recollections), he let the matter drop, and so it was settled, though most of the settling of their more zoomed out picture of living had already been taken care of. Grey was simply to be an animal that Draco had picked up, a horse to replace the one he had lost many years ago.

When Narcissa did arrive, it was a solemn affair for Grey who had mostly enjoyed his interactions with another living being, especially one whom had risked a lot to save him, and grumbled a lot that he was being shunned by Draco. This was of course met with Draco's hostile indifference and a scathing glare. Grey did not speak out again. 

"Mother, welcome back." He said graciously, meeting her at the front door and embracing her gracefully. 

"Draco, thank you," She replied, holding him perhaps a little tighter and a little longer than was necessary for impressions. She looked to Draco no worse for wear than before the war, but she never was one to show things. His mother was incredibly good at powering through things without letting seemingly anything change her mood or graces, a trait that he wished she really didn't have. "I trust you have been keeping well?" 

"Very, thank you, Yourself?" 

"Well, also, thank you darling." She stroked his hair as tough it were the most interesting thing in the world, as if it could save her from the aurors behind her. 

"May we dismiss you, or shall you be joining us for dinner?" Draco asked them as he and Narcissa detached gracefully. Neither of them were Sam, and Draco bitterly wished he was there. It was a sour looking woman who looked to be in her mid forties with a high ponytail hairstyle that did not suit her at all, and what appeared to be a fledgling auror boy, and Draco supposed he was only around twenty. 

"Well, it would be inappropriate for us to stay at a prisoners household," The sour looking woman said, sniffing as though both of them were beneath her. Narcissa raised an eyebrow, drawing herself up. 

"Of course, then I'm sure we shall see you at a later date." She said evenly, inclining her head slightly out of polite regard. The aurors did the same, and then turned to leave, but of course apparated before going to far. Draco shut the door, pressing it hard with his hand. Narcissa reached out and took it whilst it was still outstretched. "So thin." She murmured quietly, running her thumb over it. Looking at his hands, they were very thin, white skin stretched taut over the bones to give an almost skeletal effect, though he supposed he hadn't really noticed this earlier because his hands were always quite skinny. 

He hummed gently a sort of sound that could have been many things, indifference, acceptance, annoyance, but Narcissa seemed to take it as intended. As a child, he often made sort of hums and small noises of undisclosed pain, and Narcissa had always seemed to interpret them correctly.

"I suppose there aren't any house elves left?" 

"You would be correct in thinking so. All taken by Hogwarts for the kitchens, I belive." He responded, inspecting a nail bed. "Would you like to run a bath and get clean? I can cook." Narcissa smiled with warm politeness, the closest to a real smile she could get. 

"No, that's quite alright, though I would like to go and change, perhaps shower. I'll cook for us, it's been a while since I did."

And so dinner was an odd affair, and cooking an odder one. Narcissa milled around the kitchen in the assemblance of a meal whilst Draco attempted to fetch ingredients and help out, but spent most of his time as he had a child; hovering on the counter and swinging his legs, watching with the eye of an eagle. He doubted that in his trustworthy memory would he find a moment that Narcissa had ever cooked for them. 

It was nice enough, really. The cooking, that was. They made a silent agreement to not eat in the dining room, and Draco was glad for it, and could tell Narcissa was too. Too many bad memories, moments neither of them wanted to relive if they could avoid it. 

The talk was polite an civil, hostile in the way it avoided anything serious, anything that mattered. Draco watched his mother with eyed curiosity and decided, eventually, to broach the topic of his father.

"Have you heard anything from father?" He asked, head angled down at his food, eyes angled up at Narcissa who went stiff as a board at the mention.

"He wrote me, yes." She responded, quietly, but not so quiet as to sound reclusive. Draco sighed, and she looked up at him, as if realising for the first time that her son was seventeen, not ten. 

"What did he say in the letter?" Her shoulders drooped, eyes downcast. 

"Lucius was just mentioning how much he loved both of us." Draco could have expected as much. He nodded, and it was the most serious topic that approached them all night. 

Draco found it easy to fall into a routine with Narcissa, as he always had, becuase she was steady and forthcoming, and he was always searching for stability in any areas that he could. It was safe and comfortable, and it made him focus on things other than how nice it would be to end his life. 

He would wake up and shower, get dressed and read for a while in his parlour before greeting his mother downstairs for a nine thirty breakfast. He would then get changed again and go out riding on Grey until lunch which would be then spent in the kitchen in the domestic style of lunch and cooking. The time between lunch and dinner would then also be spent with Grey whilst he read, studied and wrote off to his friends, after which time he would retire to his mother's parlour for a small dinner that mainly consisted of sandwiches. 

Leaving for Hogwarts was harder when he had already established a routine, and harder when he would have to bring Grey along with him. Another element of difficulty was leaving his mother alone in the manor. For the month that he was in Azkaban for, his mother was supervised by aurors, more civil ones, and one of whom was Sam, to Draco's great joy and surprise, who would at least have kept her entertained. 

"Ask if you may have someone over, mother." He said at the door, with his bags packed and Grey waiting a little further down for him. Narcissa smiled graciously. She did that a lot nowadays.

"I'll be quite fine, Draco. Having you here was company enough, and of course you'll be home for the Christmas holidays." She said, smoothing his hair down. He wasn't wearing general wizarding clothing, rather he was wearing a long overcoat, a shirt that had a few too many buttons undone and dark trousers. A Slytherin scarf hung heavy around his neck, and the weight of many snake insignia rings adorned his fingers. An unseen bandage covered the entirety of his left forearm. "You look beautiful, as always." She always used rather more feminine compliments, which Draco supposed was a mix of her desire for him to have been a girl, and the, well, beauty of his veela features. 

"Thank you mother. And you're sure you'll be fine?"

"Of course. You really ought to get down to the collection point."

"You have to have an auror down once a week for your house arrest, so be sure to ask for a man named Sam." He advised, stepping out the door. A peacock screamed in the distance. Narcissa smiled at him, and waved elegantly, as though it were a high class gesture. "Goodbye mother. I love you." He smiled back ruefully, shouldering his bags and turned his back on the house.

He strode down the elegant pathways, and it felt like he was being funnelled down toward his doom by the high bushes. A grey cat emerged from one of the bushes and trotted alongside him, a cat Draco recognised as a Russian blue, purely because of a cat obsession that Pansy had gone through in forth year. His stomach dropped as he left the grounds of Malfoy manor, becuase standing there at the designated collection point was no other than Remus Lupin.


	12. The wolves circle and I will yield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I'm sorry about the general disorganisation of this (and the brief neglect), it hurts me to, you know. (As my friend has said and been immortalised on my quote wall, 'I live under a blanket of obliviousness.'), but I'm choosing to blame my brother for this. 
> 
> I'm also writing my 36 questions fic, which means that I'm jumping between each fic, (this is actually funny because I have like two chapters that date back to the seventeenth, lmao) 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and please do leave a comment if there is anything you particularly liked/disliked, or just because, because I absolutely love reading comments and tbh I need a little love right now lmao! 
> 
> Credits to my brother who is my inspiration for this scene with Lupin lmao, he just fit so well that I couldn't help writing Draco after him

"Hello Draco," Lupin greeted warmly. "Is that a new cat with you?" Draco blinked at him, trying to suss out if his motives lined up with what he believed to be 'moral'. It wasn't that he held a profound disliking for the man, he just felt as though there was something else there in his personality. It creeped him out. (this was not the werewolf thing. Draco, to be honest, was perfectly happy with that.)

"Good morning, professor." he responded glacially, not letting his eyes leave Lupin's. "Yes, this is a new cat." Because, really, he ought to respond. You ought to when posed with a harmless direct question. Lupin nodded, crouching down and sicking an arm out to Grey. Draco was bewildered. 

"What's his name?" Lupin asked, rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to make Grey approach him, a soft smile on his face. 

"It's Grey, and I ought not to do that if I were you." He said, eyeing Grey as if to say 'go for your life.'.

"Oh?" Lupin asked, but it was too late, because Grey had already pounced, claws out and hissing loudly. Claws raked through skin, and Lupin it all but threw himself back. "Ah." He said, less pronounced. "I suppose that's why?" Draco didn't even answer, just threw a look at Grey who smiled back. Well, Draco knew he would've if given a human body. He shouldered his luggage again, to make sure it was comfortable. It was not. "Do you have a wand, Draco?" And now Lupin was eyeing him with suspicion. Draco raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, I do happen to have one, seeing as one is required for Hogwarts. The auror escorting me said it was allowed, so I took that as allowance." He spoke eloquently, but they both knew what would happen if it did transpire he was lying. Lupin needn't of asked though; Malfoy manor had been heavily warded from the vast exterior after the wall, creating a sort of perimeter that would only allow select members through, and would notify the aurors if any 'illegal' spells were being used. Lupin nodded and began walking to the edges of the outdoor wards. Draco followed suit.

"Want some?" Lupin asked, offering rather a large bar of chocolate to him. Draco blinked in surprise. 

"I'm quite alright, thank you." Grey looked expectantly up at him. Draco sneered back. "It's chocolate, you wouldn't like it." He did his best to roll his eyes in the body of a cat. Lupin snorted and Draco pretended not to have heard it for the sake of Lupin's life. 

They walked longer than seemingly neccessary, because Draco could feel the wards reluctance to let him go once they crossed the boundary, meaning it would be fine for Lupin to apparate them to wherever they were supposed to go. He turned, opening his mouth. 

"The portkey isn't far from here." Lupin said, as though reading his thoughts, not turning to Draco nor slowing his gait down. Draco narrowed his eyes and walked on, through the hazy trees and damp green. Something hissed, and Lupin stopped. Grey had pressed himself against Draco's legs and was hissing at something unseen between the trees. Draco took a hard look at the trees, using his veela eyes to reveal the secrets of the dark beyond. A hulking figure. He instinctively pressed himself closer to the floor, grabbing his wand and pointing it at the figure. "Draco?" Lupin asked, also drawing his wand. "What is it?" 

"I don't know." He said, deadly quiet and still. 

"Come out!" Lupin called. The figure's head snapped into focus, and turned around again, steps fast and sure across the expanse of the forest. Lupin ground his teeth. "We'll need to hurry." He said, taking Draco's forearm and beginning a small sort of jog, that awkward in between that Draco was far to dignified to actually take part in. Grey trotted alongside them, clearly unsure as to wether he should be running or walking. 

The portkey was an old bottle of dry gin that had long since been drank. Draco eyed it with suspicion. 

"Really professor? Your old drinks cabinet? A little unprofessional, if you ask me." Lupin, to his surprise, laughed. 

"Not mine, I'm afraid. You know how to use a portkey, I'm assuming?" Draco gave him a clear look, but otherwise did not answer. The silence was short but awkward. Draco looked at Grey who effectively told him that it was his fault. Draco did not disagree with this assessment.

They took the portkey which then led to Lupin's office, which Draco was pleasantly surprised to find was well decorated with a thought out lay out. He surveyed it with vague interest, not letting his eyes fall for too long on one thing. Grey stuck close to Draco's legs, clearly agitated at this hideous turn of events. Draco supposed Grey had never needed to use a portkey, him being a kelpie that would most likely be fought and killed on sight. 

"Draco, I'll need to borrow you for a bit, just for a chat, so I'm afraid you'll have to wait till lunch to see your friends." Lupin said, moving round to the back of his desk and seating himself, gesturing for Draco to do the same. He let his bags drop to the floor and walked to one of the chairs in front of the desk. It was clean and comfortable, somewhat reminisce of a Victorian style of fashion.

"Is this about my proper use of magic and attitude towards other students and teachers?" He asked, lacing his fingers together above his knees. Lupin gave him a half grin. 

"I would hope you've been briefed on that already, but no. Right now, I'd like to talk about you." Draco felt the cage around him: the worst possible outcome. He groaned internally. 

"I can assure you professor that I'm not going to manipulate other students." He said, smiling tightly. Lupin smiled back, less tight lipped, more pitying and soft. Draco hated that look. He turned away.

"About your personal life, Draco. I'm a bit worried about you." Draco finally turned to glare at Lupin unhappily. "We could use a pensive, if it's easier that way." It sounded as though it was supposed to be reassuring, but it did anything but to Draco. Lupin clearly saw his mistake and hastened to correct himself. "Of course we won't use one, that's only if you really wanted too!" He said, reaching across the table to take one of Draco's skeletal hands in his own. "We can go at whatever pace you feel is right, we'll be doing this for a while, after all." Draco didn't like that wording.

"What do you mean, 'A while'?" He asked cautiously, both itching to snatch his hand away from Lupin and also to relax into the gesture, let himself believe Lupin wanted to help, to be someone else he could rely on. He left it stiff in Lupin's gentle hold. Lupin looked a little confused. 

"Didn't they tell you?" He asked, gazing at Draco with supreme curiosity. 

"Tell me what?" 

"This is going to happen weekly, due terms of your parole. Two hours every Sunday just to make sure you're on track, and we're also going to be treating it as a sort of mind therapy. I know you've been through a lot." Lupin's gaze was so warm and comforting that Draco just wanted to live in it, to relish behind it's heat and pretend that there were no ulterior motives in that gentle smile. He couldn't afford to, though, that's what had helped him get this far, but he couldn't quite bring himself to respond. 

Lupin sighed, but it wasn't out of annoyance or disappointment, and it wasn't aimed at Draco, as far as he could tell. It was the kind of sigh one made when broaching a large topic that they really didn't ant to. He dropped his hand and folded his arm around his body, a shield protecting him from whatever invasive questions might come. He saw a perfect picture of them in his mind. 

"See Draco, I think you were abused, by your father I expect. I think he did something to you." Lupin's voice sounded almost like honey, and if he lingered to long he'd get stuck. That certainly wasn't the question he had anticipated, and the shock left no room in him for a crude response. He just sat there eying Lupin who looked almost sad. Draco didn't deny, no matter how much he wanted too. His breathing pace quickened and then slowed, and he glared helplessly at his shoes. Lupin didn't say anything; Draco couldn't even hear him move, but when he looked up again, Lupin was seated in the chair next to Draco, on the wrong side of the desk. 

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Draco snapped, glaring menacingly at Lupin. "What, that I murdered people because I was too scared of what my daddy would do to me? That I cried in my room everyday? Something like that? I can tell you that, if you want, but it won't be true." He spat, aggressively posh and offensive. Attack, Lucius had told him, is the best form of defence. Lupin just looked sad, melancholy. 

"You remind me of Sirius." He said simply, a sad sort of smile on his face. "He'd always get like this when talking about his parents, too."

"If you think I'm going to find solace in that, you're sorely mistaken." Draco spat. "I have never been once been hit nor slighted by my father, and the fact you would think so shows your clear lacking as a teacher. I have never wanted in my life, and -" Lupin cut him off, taking both of his hands again, clasping them in between his own. Draco panted slightly, chest heaving and still glaring at Lupin who looked at him meaningfully. 

"Everything you say in here is confidential, Draco, I'm not going to tell anyone. All I need is for you to tell me what happened, and that's it. No one will know, but it'll make you feel better, I promise." His words were soothing, and Draco took his eyes off him for a moment, before realising that his actions were not. Lupin pushed up the right sleeve of his shirt, exposing a pale expanse of skin, unmarked and beautiful. He dared not yank his arm away, but his resolve quickly fell when Lupin reached for his wand. Draco's eyes went wide, and he scrambled to try and put as much distance between the pair of them, but Lupin's grip held tight. Perks of being a werewolf, he supposed. He heard Lupin mutter a glamour dropping spell under his breath. 

The thing was, Draco used glamour to hide a multitude of sins, all blanketed under the one relevant use of 'veela disguise'. He couldn't just drop one glamour because they were all the same one, interlinked and usable, he just added things, scars, bruises, to the glamour, but in the end, it was the same. 

He stared in horror at Lupin as he felt the glamour wash off of himself, like water in a shower. Lupin, it was safe to say, had the same look of uninterrupted horror, though Draco suspected this was more aimed at his arm than anything else, which was littered with cuts and scars, some self inflicted, others not.

"Draco," He began, turning his face up to Draco's with such sorrowful eyes that Draco wanted to hit him for it. Then he did a double take, because the boy looking back at him did not look the same as he had a minute or two previous, and seemed so utterly horrified that it must've looked almost comical. His skin was glowing with the pale beauty of the moon, his features slightly sharper, more accentuated against this new looking skin, hair swaying in an unseen breeze, casting another gentle light golden glow. His eyes looked like grey opals, shining brightly even in the thin light of the office and casting coloured shadows across his under eyes, highlighting his sharp cheek bones. 

"Get away from me!" Draco hissed, flailing back and tripping on the chair. Grey, whose presence he had forgotten, made at Lupin, snarling and hissing, batting at his face. "Stay back!" Lupin's eyes were wide, but to his credit, he seemed to get a hold of himself rather quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. 

"I'm not going to hurt you Draco, I just want to make sure you're ok. Calm down, and we can talk this out." He said slowly, as if talking to a wild animal that might bolt at any moment. "I'm not going to tell anyone." Clearly he though that this had come up all of a sudden, as though Draco wasn't born to someone who wasn't Narcissa Malfoy, someone who had somehow turned into a veela over night and was desperately grappling with the changes. Draco was sure his eyes were wild. 

"Why can't you mind your own fucking buisness?!" Everyone in the room could tell he was loosing control. Wickedly curved horns spiralled out, black at the bases moving towards a deep grey, rearing and sharp. Spare sparks prickled at his finger tips, teeth lengthening and sharpening, coming to sinfully sharp points. Lupin seemed very aware he was loosing control of the situation. 

"I don't want to hurt you Draco, but I need to get you to calm down." Lupin said evenly, hands still raised, standing slowly from the chair. Draco's back hit the wall and he pressed himself against it defensively, ready to strike at any moment. One of Lupin's hands went down slowly to where his wand was, and Draco hissed loudly, a clear message. His hand left and went back up, almost defending his chest. "Ok, ok, no wands. I just need you to calm down." How many times had he said that? Draco wasn't sure. It must have been a lot. The ends of his fingers elongated and blackened, turning to wicked claws that blood always seemed to stand out starkly on. He bared his teeth at Lupin, wishing he could snarl without loosing anymore of his dignity. Grey, who seemed to have been watching the entire altercation jumped onto the desk and meowed loudly, an almost wailing noise. Lupin span round to look at him. Draco got the message: stand down, it's fine. He blinked menacingly. 

"Go back." He snarled at Lupin, who in turn cocked his head. "Step back!" 

"Whatever you need, Draco." Lupin said, doing exactly that, hands still braced in front of himself. It both annoyed and enthralled Draco that this was the reaction he might've provoked from Lupin. Once he felt the distance was great enough, that he was confident any blow or mis-intended for his health could be easily dodged, he let himself relax. Claws retracted, teeth became more human, great horns forgotten.

It wasn't that he felt threatened, at least not that he believed, but anything could be used against him. Full and half veelas didn't quite have the rights that normal wizards did, and they could often fetch quite the pretty price when sold illegally. There was a reason he knew where to find Grey, after all. Coming down off his adrenaline high, he realised that this might not have been the best idea after all, and he bitterly regretted his heightened sense of defence and the fact that he had been bred on fear. He felt both guilty and too prideful to apologise. He could make the switch, but it really would look odd in perspective. 

"Are you feeling better? Sorry to startle you." Draco hated that tone, hated that it was being used on him. Pitying and fearful. Lupin looked so reminisce that Draco was sure in his mind he looked a lot more like Sirius Black than he looked like the lunatic veela, Draco Malfoy. He scowled at Lupin, letting his glamour wash back over him, let it settle like an awkward jumper around his features and peculiarities. 

"I thought as a teacher you would know when to leave things alone. Clearly not. Is my poor deranged cousin distorting my features? Do I no longer have blonde hair?" He drawled, a defensive quiver slightly marring the uninterested drawl. He was shaking.

"Did you want to sit down so that we can talk about this?" Lupin offered, pretending that Draco had not mentioned his 'lover' in a rather odd jest. Spook. That was the words. He hated that word, the inferences you could get, the notion that he was simply an animal that was to be danced around. He wanted to growl again, but he'd just end up setting himself off. He took the chair, seating himself on it as hostile as possible, as if to protect himself from any invasive questions. Once he made sure that Draco was 'happily' seated, he began. "So your father, then. I don't want to push you, but everything you say is useful." And to this, Draco could find only one response in his head, a response that happened to be 'suck my ass'. He did not voice his opinion. 

"Well, what do you want to know? I'll answer selectively to direct questions, hopefully aimed at how good I look dressed like this." Lupin looked like he was trying really hard not to sigh. 

"Has your father ever hit you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Again please do leave a comment, they mean a lot to me! (my friend's support only gets me so far, lmao)
> 
> Sorry that I've been really busy this week, I honestly wasn't expecting it, which led to the late release of this!


	13. in silver paper shall I wrap my affections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I shall be a lot less busy now, so my time for writing shall definitely increase, and I'll be able to get a lot more of this out to you before my school starts again next week. Online learning, here I come. (I hate my life)
> 
> Here it is! He finally gets to make his big entrance like the drama queen he is! I have been fantasizing about this scene for ages, and here it finally is, in all of its glory. 
> 
> I'm really torn between quite a few fashion choices for Draco, and it shows in my indecision, and shall probably change throughout the fic. Right now in this chapter, it has elected to be dark academia, though I'm quite confident it's not wholly his style. He will be wearing everything from ‘hooker outfits’ to cable knit jumpers in these chapters, please forgive me. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and please do leave a comment about what you liked/disliked or what you want to see more of in this fic, and I'll do my best to include it!

"Has your father ever hit you?"  


"Ought I put you under a fidelius charm first?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've already told you, this stays between us."

"Fine then, I'll bite. Yes, he's hit me." He was amazed, honestly, at how quickly he could flip the switch. Bi polar, Pansy had called it after a particularly vicious fight they had had. Lupin seemed amazed too, though he didn't dare voice his opinion to Draco in fear of angering him again, just nodded in an understanding manner, clearly upset.

"How bad has it gotten? Was- was it worse growing up? Has it gotten worse recently? I seem to recall Hermione telling me something about you in sixth year, about the pain you were in." This did shock Draco.

"Granger told you? What does she know?" He asked, careful not to sound to forceful or desperate. He sounded even and controlled, a win.

"She saw you in an alcove, apparently you appeared to be in significant pain and slumped against the wall." Ah. He did remember that. It wasn't even an altercation, really, just a birthday present. In fairness, it was the strongest birthday present he had ever recieved. He gripped the wand in his pocket firmly. The moonstone and opal were cold against his skin, jagged but forgiving.

"One of my low points, I must admit. Tell her to forget about it."

"You haven't answered my question." Lupin said, measured and cool, not a hint of annoyance.

"Hm. I don't know. Everything was fine till I was about seven or eight, I think? That was a bit of a tipping point, I suppose. I don't recon it's gotten worse, per se, just... Creative." Lupin hated the word 'creative', which could hide a multitude of sins.

"And the-the veela thing? How long have you been dealing with that?" He asked. Best not to push too many boundaries, but to see where the lines lay, or lack thereof. Draco cocked his head, raised an eyebrow.

"Want an explanation or a time period?"

"I'd prefer both, if you didn't mind." Draco lowered his eyebrow till it was more of a vaguely amused frown. Lupin didn't know how he did it.

"Well then, it's been a thing my entire life. Don't know if you know, but you don't get bitten by veelas in the same way you get bitten by werewolves." He said rather cynically, and he was pleased in the drawl it came with. Lupin, to his credit, looked only slightly put out. "My mother's side. She was a full blood veela."

"Narcissa?" Lupin asked, delicately avoiding the question of 'how much are you worth on the black market?'. Draco snorted.

"God no. Had a fucking fit when I came home for the first time, and besides, the Blacks aren't veelas." Lupin could see it, see it clearly. He was avoiding asking what he meant, because talking to Draco was like stalking a wild animal. Step on too many sticks and they get spooked, run off.

"The first time?" Lupin asked.

"Yes. I don't suppose you would remember Lucius Malfoy visiting Russia with Narcissa Malfoy around eleven years ago?" Lupin nodded. He did remember, it was quite a big news story.

"The one where a lot of accompanying personals ended up dead? The... Mystery striker was it?"

"Yes, that's the one. They all ended up dead because they were very personal to my father. I showed up that trip, that's why had to die."

"I'm sorry, you just... Showed up?" Lupin asked, perplexed. "I don't quite understand." Draco grinned, shark-like and predatory, and lent forward, confident Lupin wouldn't tell anyone.

"Let me tell you the story of Nikolai Lebedev."

And so he did, in every details other than the gory ones. He told Lupin of his triumphs, not of his downfalls, the glory an beauty that came with being a veela, not the kidnapping and selling of a few organs. (He hadn't really lost any, but they were more than glad to hand them off.) And after it all, he had shocked Lupin to silence and meandered on for so long that he had almost used up all of his time. (He kept getting distracted by Grey who would occasional wander round and break things, much to Lupin's dismay. )

Lupin, safe to say, really had no idea what to say to it all. He just stared at Draco in sad, perplexed silence, looking like he very much wanted to say 'Draco, I'm so sorry', but had the clarity to keep his mouth shut, because he knew full well what would happen if he did say it.

"Well then. I've an hour before lunch, so would it be agreeable for me to be allowed to unpack in my dorm?" Draco drawled, posh and without a trace of the fact he had just told someone something he was never supposed to say, not to anyone under 'pain of death'. Fat chance he'd be offed though with Lucius in Azkaban. Looked like offing himself was something he had to himself, not that he particularly minded. Things happen. He had an image of the dorm room he would be in; he was aware that the eight years got their own common room and dorms. He supposed it would be quite nice, just him and Blaise in a small room at the top of some tower. The jokes they could make.

"I- yes I suppose." The words seemed to shock Lupin into working, but not very well. "Have you, uh, been told who you're sharing with?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"As the only male Slytherins, I had the idea me and Blaise would be sharing." He said, not liking where this was going. He doubted he could get through the year without Blaise being in the same room.

"Well, sort of. The dorms have had to be split up, so there are four people in each dorm." At Draco's sceptical, almost hostile look, he hastened to add to his statement. "Of course, you and Blaise are sharing, though."

"Who else is in the room?" He asked after a moment of deliberation and calculations. He really didn't like where they were getting him.

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." Lupin said, looking very much like he did not want to be the one to deliver the news. Draco let a frown crease his brows, a long exhaling sigh. He massaged his temples to ward of the coming headache.

"What about Pansy?" He asked, not letting his hands drop. Lupin looked a little confused before it clicked.

"She's sharing with Hermione and a few other Gryffindor girls. They won't give her trouble, I mad sure of it in the configurations."

"God, this'll be a fucking nightmare." He hissed. "Well, thank you Professor, I'm sure I'll see you at lunch in an hour. I don't suppose there's a location I could be given?" Lupin stood to match Draco.

"The tower above the Gryffindor common room. Can you find it ok?" He asked, hastening to walk around the desk to stand next to Draco who was picking up his bags from the floor. Grey looked more than a little annoyed at being left out, but Draco did not bother to consider it.

"I'd rather have you guide the way, or else, who knows what I could get up to." Lupin raised an eyebrow in what could have been a smirk, had he not been so surprised.

"Ok, then."

They walked in utter silence, the type that was appreciated but awkward. Grey trotted alongside them, glaring at anything and everything that moved, most of which seemed to enchanted paintings who remarked rudely upon the appearance of such a creature in muttered tones. Draco hoped Lupin didn't hear, and by the look of him, he didn't.

"This is the entrance to the common room, and you should be able to find the dorms from here. No-one else should be in there, classes are running." And with that, he turned around and all but fled. Draco almost laughed.

The common room was nice enough; large and comfortable, decorated with regalia's from all of the houses, colours intertwined with crests. It appeared to have elements of all houses in there, the large fireplace surrounded by comfy sofas, a small library dedicated area with writing desks, instalments of many magical and non-magical plants and flowers and the grand high ceilings and tall windows he recognised from Slytherin. Grey looked up at him, cocking his head.

"Yes, yes, fine there shouldn't be anyone else here." He didn't turn back, but he could hear two feet now following him instead of four.

"Am I going to get somewhere to sleep?" Grey asked haughtily as Draco inspected the signs for the doors.

  
"Go look out that window there." Draco said, nodding to one of the large sweeping panels. Footsteps shuffled away to go inspect the view. "Do you see that large forest?"

"Of course I do." His voice was proud and unforgiving.

"You're a kelpie, you can live there. It's next to a large lake and a river." Grey sounded almost delighted.

"You mean it?" He asked, long arms wrapping around Draco's chest. He put his head back to let it rest on Grey's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"Mm, no. I was just teasing. You shall live out your days as my faithful house cat." He muttered. "Let me go, I need to move this stuff up this staircase." Grey dutifully un wound his arms from Draco, and picked up the bags and headed up the stairs first. "Ah, such a good kelpie." He mused, following.

The room to was nicer than he expected. It was spacious and tall, high ceilings sheltering the four poster beds which were arranged in a sort of square, on in each corner. The two on the right side had been taken, clearly by Weasley and Harry with the amount of red and gold that hung off them. The one in left corner with the window view was the only one that had yet to be claimed, by the looks of it, though the curtains were drawn. Grey was taking in the sights of the room, wandering about it before setting down the luggage next to the vacant bed.

"Can I?" He asked. Draco nodded, inspecting the room. The window opened, and suddenly a large eagle owl was flying out of it, disappearing slowly into the distance. Draco watched the speck of black get smaller and smaller till it was barely visible through the haze of trees. It smelt fresh in the room to his great surprise. (Living with Blaise for a while often gave rooms the smell of French perfume, and he was sure living with a pair of untidy Gryffindors would make the room smell pretty bad.) Plants decorated this room as well, making the air crisp. Draco found himself liking the added greenery. He swiftly shut the window and unwrapped the curtains that seemed to be made of green silk, embroidered with silver, giving it a rippling effect that was more than pleasing. He found himself laughing at it and shaking the fabric to make it seem like pools of water against clean rock pools, amused at how pretty the colours looked. If only Blaise could see him now.

He spent the rest of his precious hour unpacking, placing personal effects on the carved walnut surfaces, surprised to find that some items already littered it, items wrapped in silver tissue paper. Draco smirked to himself, gathering the five items and seating himself on his new bed. There was a note attached, beneath the items which he unwrapped with practiced eagerness.

_Dearest Draco,_

_It's going to be a rough start for you, so you better buckle in, bitch boy. We missed your Birthday this year which totally wasn't our fault, but we wanted to make it up to you. Blaise should have gone ahead an decorated the bed properly for you, but we also wanted to give you these. Some of them we got you for earlier this year, and some of them are recent, so you'll have to tell us if any of the measurements are off._

_Love you,_

_Pansy (and Blaise)_

He laughed at the note before folding it and placing it on the bedside table. The first he unwrapped was in a small black box, an ornate silver ring with three emeralds studded down the long centre of it, swirling patterns coming to meet the sides. The second was a book, a French first edition of Crime and Punishment with old yellowing pages and green binding highlighted with gold lettering. The third was a large cased bottle of Louis XIII which he knew would be a lot of fun to drink on cold December evenings out by the lake whilst lying on top of Blaise with Pansy's head in his lap. The fourth was a bottle of what he knew to be very expensive French perfume. Clive Christian, Blaise had done his homework. The last was a long, silk, deep emerald robe that felt more like a liquid under his hands than anything else.

He hit the bed with a small thud, sighing into the open air around him, long exhales that still could not convey the proper affections for the pair of them. Draco wanted to lay there, forever possibly, but he had wasted enough time as was of his precious hour alone, and it was time to leave the safety of his bed and venture into civilisation. But alas, that just was not the way that his ego rolled. If he left now and walked in an amble, he'd be fashionably late, show up in style. The way he always did.

Throwing himself up, he let out a sigh. As a privilege, eighth years were allowed to wear whatever they want within certain guidelines (Draco was almost certain that these guidelines were enforced because of Pansy and Blaise, and he was also well aware that they would be the only two to defy them.) He had taken full advantage of this and was wearing his favourite trench coat, black shirt and trousers, a Slytherin tie loose around his neck. There were more than a few rings adorning his skeletal fingers, long necklaces around his neck, and many more piercings. (He had allowed Grey to figure it out, after all, he had a wand to fix any wrong punctures.)

He grasped his wand and inspected it as he walked down the stairs, admiring the opal and moonstone. Admiring its core. Humming pretty tunes under his breath proved to be a nicer distraction than most to the thoughts that plagued his mind, winding melodies as he strode through the newly empty halls.

And then, there they were. Huge oak doors that led into the great hall, mindless chatter floating through them and drifting around him, trying to beckon him in. It would all stop once he entered. All eyes on him. He smirked to himself.

Lucky for him, he liked it that way.

He strode up to the door and pushed them open with the force neccessary, great hulking, creaking things that whined as they did exactly what they were purposed to do. It was flat and heavy beneath his hands. The chatter ceased. Eyes found his body, murmered gasps and exclamations. He smirked even wider at the mass of people staring at him.

"Oh dear, it would appear I'm late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: It took me half an hour and three friends to try and configure all of the gifts Pansy and Blaise got for Draco and we even went through a long list of car we thought he'd have fun owning, which I'm sure will now be added to my 36 questions fic!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, please do leave a comment about what you liked/disliked or what you want to see more of in this fic, and I'll do my best to include it!


	14. Intoxicate yourself with my presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'll admit it, most of this is basically just fluffy banter between the three Slytherins and I'm not at all sorry. I really wanted to convey their dynamic in the right way, and this is as close as I could get, so I hope you enjoy it and get a feel for their group!
> 
> I have, after much deliberation, decided that this will not switch P.O.V's, which is really a shame because I do have a lot of Harry P.O.V stuff in my drafts, so I might just release a lot of that on a separate work for one-shots. 
> 
> A little more organised this time, and happy new years! I have to say, after the shit show of 2020, I don't know how much worse it can get, but I'm hoping for a brighter year. (despite this, I have really stepped up my funeral wear game, so I'm prepared in any scenario.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you next time!

A rippling murmur tore through the students like a wildfire as he strode through the hall, feigning nonchalance, a hushed cheer from many of the Slytherins. He did not make eye contact with anyone, instead keeping them forward facing and glinting through the artificial sky and candle glow. Echoing steps reverberated around the walls as his shoes hit the stone, coat almost billowing around him. He kept the smirk on his face. Image was power, and power was divine.

Pansy and Blaise were waiting for him at the end of the Slytherin table opposite each other, a seat waiting and open next to Pansy, inviting him in. He turned and glanced around the room once he reached it, smirk growing slightly wider as he noticed all eyes were still on him, as if people were afraid to take them away. Good. He made a small mock bow to his audience and seated himself gracefully, pouring himself a glass of whatever was in the ornate golden jug (he suspected it was red wine) and took a small sip.

"What have I missed?" He asked Pansy, still smiling, though it was more amused now as he faced her awed face. She quickly masked her expression and turned to the rest of the hall.

"If you're all quite done staring, it's lunch and your food is bound to be getting cold." She shouted at them, voice high and posh. It took a moment for all of the students to turn around and begin muttering amongst themselves, but Draco could still feel half the hall's eyes on his back. He sipped his wine again laconically, smiling in a similar fashion at Blaise who seemed to take it as a joke and smirked back.

"Miss me, then?" He asked, raising an eyebrow before Pansy side-tackled him as gracefully as she could into a hug. He wound a long arm around her, kissing the top of her head as she gripped his long coat with near trembling fingers. Once she withdrew herself, she feigned ignorance and pretended nothing had happened. Draco and Blaise did the same, because that was the nature of their friendship.

"You absolute dick, Draco Malfoy. Where are our letters?" She asked haughtily, folding her arms and glaring him down, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Blaise grinned at him, raising his own glass of red wine to his lips.

"Come now darling, I was busy." He drawls at her, examining the food. "Don't be too put out." Blaise choked on a laugh. Pansy glared at the pair of them.

"You're both unbelievable. I had to learn that you got out through the prophet. The fucking _prophet_." She snarled at him, not really all that upset with him, and they all knew it.

"Ok love, I promise the next time I get out of prison I'll spend those first three minutes writing you a letter." He assures her, gathering some semblance of food as Blaise eyed him. Draco winked back. Pansy let out an over exaggerated sigh.

"I suppose it'll have to do. What did you think?" She gave him a cat like look, and Draco knew she wasn't on about Azkaban or the food.

"Mm, very nice. I loved the ring, and I'm sure we'll all have a good time getting wasted by the lake." He said. "Oh, this is nice. I have to tell you, this is much better than the food at home."

"Yes, I'm sure anything is better than what you could cook. God forbid I have to visit without the graced presence of house elves." Blaise snarked, posh and clipped with an amused tone.

"Well then I'll tell you now, I'm a lot better at cooking than you would imagine. I'll have you know I've been praised for my many abilities." He smirked, gesturing vaguely his fork. Pansy laughed and Blaise snorted, rolling his eyes an going back to his food that was apparently more important than Draco, an absolute lie.

"Oh yes I'm quite sure you have Draco. Anyway, the gifts?" Pansy sniped, pouting at the end as if he hadn't already answered the question.

"Come on, you know Pans wants a proper answer and a detailed manuscript of use for each and every gift." Blaise said, leaning to place his chin on the back of his hand which was still holding a fork.

"You'll have to stop doing that Blaise, you look unbelievably sexy. Yes Pansy darling, the gifts were wonderful. I love them." He didn't say it, but they all knew what it meant. Draco wasn't quite the kind of person to say 'I love you' so this was about as close as it got. The pair of them genuinely smiled, wide and bright, and Pansy wound both of her arms around Draco's right one, leaning into his shoulder.

"Yes, well, I thought you'd like them. I hope Blaise made the bed for you properly as well, that was supposed to be an extension on it." She said, examining her nails whilst she all but clung to him in a random show of affection the three of them had seemed to have adopted.

"I thought it looked to expensive and silky to have been done by the school. Merlin, that's what I was going to ask, how are the roommates?" Blaise's grin turned into a vaguely unamused and contemplative frown.

"Well I suppose Mr. Potter doesn't give me a hard time, I mean, I would even go out on a limb and say he was even trying to be nice to me. Weasley's another fucking matter, and I want to punch him."

"Messy as well." Pansy quipped, releasing Draco in favour of playing with her hair. "I don't know. Do you think I should change the colour?" She asked, preening ever so slightly as she messed around with it. She needn't have bothered, it looked perfect anyway.

"No, it's nicer black, though if you were to get green highlights I wouldn't stop you." Draco said, taking another sip of red wine. "Anyway, dorm management. How's it going for you, Pansy darling? Heard you got thrown in with Granger." Pansy sighed dramatically, takin her turn to sip the wine.

"Well, I suppose it's not so bad. Most of the time they pretend I don't exist, but it doesn't bother me." She sighed, pouting slightly. Only someone who actually knew Pansy would have seen how upset she really was. Draco put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.

"Good that you don't need them when you have us." Blaise commented, reaching across the table to pat her head and ruffle he hair which she protested at with a loud swear. The moment was over almost as soon as it started, and Pansy went back to bitchily flicking her hair.

"See, they aren't as bad as the Weasel or Potter, but at least you're in a room together. Me and Blaise have had to spend all our time in the library section of the common room to avoid people, which I know Blaise hates to do." She said, looking like she was trying very hard to focus on her food, but her gaze kept drifting to Draco. Blaise looked rather haughty.

"You bitch, I know that you like to show yourself off as much as the next person." He said, but he was too close to laughing to let it have any real bite. Draco laughed at him, and Pansy grinned as well.

"Good to see your sense of humour hasn't changed at all." She said, almost whimsically, as if she thought it might've. Draco wasn't surprised. They likely had expected him to be acting a lot differently after a stay in Azkaban, and to be honest, he couldn't blame them at all. It was all his best acting to make the talk look effortless, but he really did feel drained. As if he would never be happy again, some voice told him in the back of his mind ironically, except it wasn't the immediate reaction to the dementors, it was just a reaction really to everyday life.

"You alright Draco?" Blaise asked, knocking the back of his hand into Draco's skeletal ones, jolting him slightly form bleak daydreams. "You look tired. We won't blame you or anything if you don't want to talk, little as you think of us."

"How dare you. These bags under my eyes accentuate my good looks and make all the women desire me. Ever heard of case project?" He asked, and to his credit, he did not sound in the least bit lacking, just normal. Pansy gave him an almost pitying look before she grabbed his glass of red wine.

"Oh well, more for me then." She said, licking her lips lecherously in what was an attempt on a provocative action, which, if she weren't the Pansy Parkinson that Draco knew, would have been exceedingly attractive.

"Bitch." He said, and swiped her ornate glass of wine, copying her actions. Blaise laughed across the table at both of them as they chugged the contents of the glasses with eye contact all the while. They all laughed a small while, the sound filling the air around them, unnerving those who sat too close, because, well, what could they be laughing about? They were Slytherins, after all. Draco felt a certain pair of eyes burning into the back of his head, and, not being one to resist temptation turned around with a smirk on his face, wine glass in hand. Harry Potter was staring at him from two tables away surrounded by other Gryffindor's who meant Draco less than well. "Would you like a picture Potter? You could add it to your stalking album." He called out across the sea of voices, many hostile. Pansy gave a small giggle beside him, more to encourage him than anything else, and Blaise was staring in a rather different way, more a glare than anything that did not match Draco's smirk.

"Do you recon he's too stunned by your devilishly good looks to answer?" Pansy said sideways to him after a moment of s sort of staring contest.

"Yes Pansy, I'm quite sure that's what it is." The words were, inherently, mocking, and that was surely how Blaise meant them, but he said it with such a straight face that both Pansy and Draco were quite unable to respond, and were also quite unable to contain their laughter, much to their dismay. They both started laughing a little which really seemed to enrage most of the room, especially the Weasel seated next to Potter who's face was as red as his hair.

"What's your problem Malfoy? Was a month in Azkaban not enough? Want to go back?" He shouted at the Slytherins. Many of Draco's not quite supporters but sympathisers in Slytherin began an almost verbal assault with hushed shouting back at the Weasel which sounded more like a sea of insults to Draco's pleased ears. The entire room had gone silent again, and the teachers were poised and ready to launch themselves in should the teenagers get too carried away.

"Mm, very much not. I'm quite alright, though the offer was nice enough. Perhaps you could avoid altercations like this if you kept your mouth shut and eyes to yourself." He drawled the first part out almost lazily, like he would have a few years ago, but he made sure his insult had enough bite to be an underlying threat, outline that he was not one to cross without saying it. Great many English teachers give the singular advice of 'show, not tell', and this is exactly how Draco deployed his speech. Make sure you're a known threat without going around and beating people up. The Weasel seemed to have no viable response and so muttered something that sounded a lot like 'Slytherin scum' and turned around again.

"Dick." Pansy said, glowering in the Gryffindor direction. "Still, it's not worth risking it for your honour Draco, we know you lost it the day you slept with Blaise for the first time." Draco at that point was halfway between throttling her and laughing, and Blaise seemed to be having a similar dilemma. "Oh, come on boys, don't loose your tongues, it's just an insult." And then her smirk matched Draco's previous one, and she looked very smug, proud of herself.

"Now, now Pans, don't go all high and mighty after just one insult." Blaise tutted, and it was in that arrogant way he did when he knew his opponent had no real answer to come back with. Predictably, Pansy didn't answer and turned to Draco, blocking Blaise out.

"Well Draco, lunch is almost over, I have free periods all day and a bottle of expensive French whiskey, do you have any idea where I'm going with this?" She asked, flicking her hair in Blaise's direction just as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Pans," Draco said, in an over exaggeration of how touched he felt. "You would let me get fucking plastered with you again? I thought you'd never ask." He then changed his tone to bored and monotone. "Oh, Blaise I suppose you can come too. What are you bringing?" Blaise didn't even hesitate, he knew how the game worked.

"My hot body and boundless charm." He said. Draco smirked.

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"Draco!" Pansy said loudly. "He's been rude to me, and now you're inviting him out to get plastered with us? The travesty. The betrayal." She moaned, slumping against him, back of her hand against her forehead in a sort of swoon.

"Don't be so dramatic," Blaise snarked whilst watching a small trickle of people leaving the halls, mainly just the second and third years. "Right then, are we leaving and getting our shit together?" Of course, Draco had barely eaten, but he made sure that it was known he was finished. Pansy and Blaise were nearly done once he had arrived so fashionably late, so it worked.

"Yes, lets. We can go to the common room and I'll smuggle out the whiskey, and you two can figure out where we're sitting." Pansy said, not waiting for confirmation and standing up. Blaise walked around to their side as Draco got up, and the three of them strode towards the door, whispers following their steps. The group of third years blocking the door quickly moved out the way as they approached it, murmuring amongst themselves. None of them said anything outright and seemed particularly obedient, but their eyes held malice that they dared not show. Draco pulled his lips into a sneer, but let it not grace their presence, walking past in a swirl of coat and white-golden hair.

"So, what did you think of the common room and dorms?" Blaise asked as they walked on up the staircases.

"Quite enjoyable. I really admire it, it's very pretty." He said after a moment of consideration. "The plants really do add atmosphere, and they work well with the high ceilings and the windows." Pansy nodded, murmuring quietly.

"Yes, I thought so too." She said, running her hands along the rough stone of the bannister. "Quite unnecessary how they have to mix the rooms like this, though. I'd much rather be stuck in a room with both of you." They had never really shared a room properly, only the room of requirements, but Draco could imagine just how it would go. It would be great, he thought, to share a room that smelt like cinnamon, French perfume and expensive alcohol.

  
And so they spent the rest of the day grabbing two bottles of whiskey, avoiding all other personnel and walking across the cold grounds to their own hidden spot by the lake, a grove unmarred by trees with rich green grass and sandy banks where they could run across the waves in total peace.

They sat on picnic rugs strewn across the grass, lying haphazardly across each other as they passed around the bottles, talking about everything and nothing, about all the things they couldn't talk about under the blanket of sobriety.

After a while, Draco kicked himself up with the second bottle and ran into the small tide of the lake that lapped at his ankles, trousers rolled up and coat forgotten, laughing to the black of the water. Blaise joined him, wrestled him into the water for the whiskey and let laughter be their words of choice. Then Pansy joined it, giggling and stumbling kicking water up at them till they were all soaked and freezing, sitting in the shallow waters with only the burn of alcohol to keep them warm against the October weather and the harrowing thoughts. And then, into the wind and cold they all whispered the same three words through their giggles and drunken thoughts.

"I love you." Draco whispered last, and they watched the sun set against the horizon through a haze of happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading, and please do leave a comment if there's anything you particularly liked/disliked, or if you just want to say hi, they really mean so much to me!
> 
> I've decided to continually do facts about random things in this fic, so here's the one for today's chapter: This dynamic was really hard for me to properly show off (I felt Blaise wasn't getting enough lines, so I had to re-write a lot of it), and I basically used the relationship I have with my brother to structure around, which is practically the relationship Pansy and Draco have (this is not exact, as you will see later in the fic), so it was definitely really funny writing these scenes!


	15. Stretched across your soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Happy New Years!! I know I'm a little late, but here we are. Here's to hoping 2021 goes better that 2020, and that you've all had a better start to the year than me (yikes.)
> 
> I am aware this is mostly the Slytherin trio again, but I really do love them. We kick off a bit at the end of this chapter (Open the gates fellas! Here comes the Drarry!)
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope that if you're going back to school or are already back it's not going too bad! I start on Friday and I've already recieved assignments, dear God.

When the three of them were cold enough and clumsy enough to forget the warming spell under the influence of alcohol, they stumbled giggling back to the grey stone of the castle, muttering in jokes and jibes at those who passed. (somewhere in Draco's mind he recognised that they were going to get n trouble for coming back drunk and very late, but he couldn't bring himself to care)

"Draco, darling," Blaise said, in the tone he used when he wanted something, wanted something specific. Overly posh in the way he always talked, with the trace of a slight whine that Pansy often used. "I want something."

"Of course," Draco said, grinning, slinking an arm around Blaise's waist, leaning into his scent. "Can I guess?"

"Think you already have." Pansy quipped from Draco's left, sounding both disgusted and completely used to it.

"We have a winner." Blaise called louder than neccessary, the alcohol removing any noise barriers of polite society that he previously had. Draco's right hand roamed up Blaise's back beneath the shirt he was wearing, fingers brushing lightly and pleasingly over soft skin and hard muscles.

"You don't have to be so loud about wanting to fuck him." Pansy said haughtily, looking at them with a not quite glare that got across the message of displeasure whilst also telling them how much she loved them to let her behave like that.

"Alcohol." Blaise said simply and loudly, a wide stupid grin on his face which vanished quickly when a Hufflepuff fifth year walked past them, tripping on her long robes as Pansy glared at her with cat eyes.

"Mm, you always did know how to send them running." Draco mused, watching the girl hurry away, still stroking Blaise's back delicately. "We're not stopping you from sleeping with us Pans, you just aren't into dick and there's nothing wrong with that." He gave her an almost patronisingly pitying look. Blaise laughed, loud and rich, much like his personality. Pansy glared at Draco and hit him lightly, sticking her nose in the air.

"Even if I was into guys, I have _standards,_ which means both of you are automatically eliminated." She flicked her hair bitchily and strode onwards, towards the common room. Draco removed his hand from Blaise's shirt which came with protest from him.

"Draco darling, you could at least tuck my shirt back in again." He said haughtily as the large wooden door swung open to reveal the rest of the year strewn around the room, all of them looking up as they entered. Draco raised an eyebrow at them and continued into the library with Blaise and Pansy at his side.

"Merlin, I see what you mean," He said as they sat in and around a large green armchair surrounded by bookshelves, lit by green lamps mounted to the walnut. "They're all fucking crazy about you being in here." Blaise was the one who was occupying the armchair, really, whilst Pansy lounged gracefully on the floor, one hand on Draco's knee, the other folded across Blaise's thigh so that she might have better purchase to lay her head delicately there. Draco had opted for perching on the armchair's wide arm, one leg more dangling off the side than anything, one arm wrapped around the back of Blaise's shoulder, leaning in, the other messing with his long blond hair in the flattering light.

"Mm, and we've had to put up with this far longer than you have." Pansy muttered, slapping her hand down a little on his knee. They had managed to somehow smuggle the empty bottles back with them, because Blaise wanted to keep the bottles, not just vanish them. The glass clinked as he shifted to kiss Draco in the chair. Sounds of murmuring and hushed insults drifted through to them, and they all laughed, Draco grinning into Blaise's lips, pulling apart to look mock-haughtily down the small line of shelves that separated them from the rest of the year.

"They never have anything else to gossip about." Blaise said, picking his left hand up from Pansy's head where it was playing lightly with her hair. "Fucking nightmare." Pansy nodded in quick agreement.

"If I were still allowed to be the high witch, they'd have a lot more to talk about." She professed to them, looking at the books as though she was trying to discern which ones would be actually interesting. Blaise and Draco exchanged a smirking look, Blaise's hand knocking gently against the side of her head as she gazed half heartedly at the books, causing her to look up at the pair of them, an 'I-know-something' cat look on her face.

"What have you got for us Pans?" Draco asked, angling head so his chin has up, tilted to the side slightly and grinned at her in a not quite malicious look. Pansy giggled and paused for dramatic effect.

"Well you know how Potter and girl Weasley never got back together after the war?" She said. Blaise and Draco gave her a look to show that they were hanging on her every word, the look that she absolutely loved. She smiled widely and Draco regretted the turn that this conversation was taking. "Heard he has a boy toy. Did some investigating," Which was Pansy code for stalking, but neither Draco nor Blaise pointed it out. "Turns out he's gay. Overheard him and girl Weasley fighting and he told her, made her promise not to say anything."

"You little miracle worker. You know, it never ceases to amaze me when you show your talents." Blaise grinned, the sort of secret grin one would have once finding out gossip, a juicy secret. Pansy practically glowed at the praise. "I mean, who would have thought?"

"Oh come on, you didn't get a clue?" Draco asked, straightening himself a little. Pansy looked disappointed in a subtle way that only the three of them could really do. "Of course, you're amazing though Pans. Any idea who the boy toy is?" She perked up again at the mention of gossip.

"Well, I know that he's in Slytherin." She said, a knowing smile on the reaction that this would provoke. Blaise looked even more intrigued and ruffled her hair.

"That _is_ good." Draco snorted and batted Blaise's hand away, leaning awkwardly and removing his hand from his shoulders so that he could plait Pansy's hair, who immediately turned round obediently, using her hands to throw her hair up so that Draco could reach it easier. Such as there friendship, they moved from the topic completely and began a new one.

"What do you think of this length?" Pansy asked as Draco's hands worked through her hair. "I was thinking of taking it longer, but I wasn't sure."

"Oh, do keep it the same." Blaise said, overly posh again, hands moving to Draco's waist, pulling him down to sit in his lap. 

"Oh, fuck off Blaise I'm going to have to re-organise myself now." Pansy snapped, pulling herself forward before pushing herself back between Draco's legs so that he might continue with his hair. Draco didn't say anything, didn't laugh, just carried on as normal, because this was his friend group and he was finally comfortable mentally in between the people he loved and who loved him back without front or ulterior motive.

  
"Do you recon," Draco asked thoughtfully, most of his focus still retained by Pansy's hair "That we should move? I can hear them talking shit through the shelves." Blaise let his head com forward to rest on Draco's shoulder, lolling to the side slightly to lazily poke his nose at Draco's neck.

"If we had to re-locate every time this happened, I'm sure we'd be forever on the run." He muttered into the soft skin, and Pansy made a non-committal sound of agreement.

"We could shout at them?" She suggested airily, and Draco knew that Blaise was eyeing him.

"That would only work if it were you doing it, darling." He said to her. "Right, done." Pansy admired his handiwork in a conjured mirror, examining the sides with delicate fingers, nails painted some amalgamation of green and black.

"I think you've gotten better," She said, looking at him through the mirror that Draco recognised to be one of his own, something he had on his bedside table a few years back that had suddenly disappeared. She pretended not to notice his scathing glare.

"Had about a month to perfect it. Not much else to do in Azkaban." He felt Blaise stiffen beneath him as he mentioned it, but he did not pen his mouth against Draco, just tightened his arms gently again and squeezed, pressing a small kiss to Draco's neck.

"Mm, have you seen the bathroom we have?" Blasie asked, clearly wanting to move on. Pansy flipped herself round again at the mention of it, grinning.

"Oh yes! It's really rather nice and you get one per room and a sink each!" She said excitedly.

"Rumour has it that it was because of Pansy that this rule was created, because they didn't want to give her an entire bathroom whilst the others had to share." Blaise snarked, just loud enough to be heard by Pansy who hit him.

"All good things." Draco snorted. "Want to show me? I might get lost." Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Oh you two are no fun. Being the only girl sort of sucks in this group." She thought for a moment. "Oh, on the topic of sucking-"

"Yes, thank you darling." Blaise said rather loudly, cutting her off. Pansy grinned lecherously whilst Draco laughed at them. He had missed this, the stupid quarrels that didn't matter or last, the dynamic of love. It was getting dark outside.

"Fine, fine. I'm going to my room, have fun scoping out the bathroom, I'm sure the girls have a nicer one than you do." She pushed herself up from the floor gracefully, stretching and bending out the odd kinks in her joints.

"Judging from moaning Myrtle, I think we're quite safe." Draco responded, doing the same and then reaching down to help Blaise up. "Merlin, what are you, eighty?" Blaise shot him a glare in turn of a reply and was the first to stroll down the small corridor of books, casting a glance over his shoulder to see if the pair of them were following. Pansy kissed Draco's cheek as they walked.

"I've missed you." She whispered.

"I've missed you too." Draco whispered back, taking her hand and kissing it softly. He felt eyes burning into him as the three of them strolled past to the rooms, all muted chatter shutting off completely in favour of glaring at the death eater scum that stood before them. Draco lifted his head up airily and didn't give them the time of day.

It was a lot nicer and safer inside of the room, and it was good to lie beguilingly on the silk sheets of the bed reading a book in the quiet candle light. Blaise had neglected his homework, forgoing it for getting drunk with Pansy and Draco, but as he sobered up, his growing urgency for completing it steadily took over, and so Draco read to the turning of parchment and the scratching of a quill, gentle questions asked to the air, sometimes to Draco, with a small murmur of conciousness accompanying it all.

"I'm going for a walk." Draco said suddenly, shutting his new 'Crime and Punishment' with a gentle slam. Blaise looked up from the desk with intrigue, a questioning look on his face.

"Want me to come?" He asked, setting down his quill and folding his arms, leaning back. Draco smiled as he pulled on his shoes, adjusting his earrings so that they sat right.

"I'm not a child darling, I can handle myself." Blaise muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'of course you do'. "Thank you for the offer." He hastened to add, smiling gently and making for the door, letting a hand run across the length of Blaise's shoulders as he passed.

"Come back in one piece." Draco turned round and winked at him before shutting the door behind him and striding through the considerably more empty common room, encountering no problems, only low murmurs. He left into the surprising cool of the castle, the not quite chill and walked briskly onward, vaguely wishing he had bought his coat instead of his book.

The sound of stone steps reverberated around the walls as he climbed them, gradually getting higher and higher till he could see more, hear the sound of the wind and the rain. He reached the top, face to face with a wooden door, the door of his dreams. Pushing it open revealed the room, their secret room to be almost exactly how they had left it. It smelt less of him now, more of the faint aroma of a person. He shut the door without looking at it, fixated on the window and what lay below it. He sat gracefully on the window seat where he could hear the rain more clearly now, more deafening, but in a familiar, safe way, one that he revelled in. He had barely opened his book when the door creaked open. He didn't turn around, just looked up at the window, hands holding the book going slack.

"Hello, Draco." Harry Potter said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Please do leave a comment if there's anything you want to see more of, anything you liked, or any constructive criticism, it's always really appreciated and I love reading your comments!
> 
> I have another au bouncing around my head which really does not help my writing for this. It's a single dad Draco au, so let me know if you want it released earlier, becuase I'll probably try to finish this and my 36 questions fic before I release it. 
> 
> Random fact about this chapter: I did mention about basing the Slytherin's relationship on the relationship I have with my brother, so I really hope you can see here in what parts this is not true. I actually drew out a room plan for the common room so that I could actually write consistently, and now my search history is absolutely convinced I am rich because all I have been looking up is effectively 'expensive furniture', 'expensive clothing brands' etc, (had to do this for Draco's gifts last chapter) so if I'm being traced, they will be coming for my bank account. Oops.


	16. the feelings I cannot leave behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh-um hello.
> 
> Oh god, I'm so sorry this is so late! School's been so busy, dear God, so I've been writing this in most of my boring lectures, which may have taken an impact on the um, end. All I'm saying is that I have some very strong feelings about ancient history, lol. 
> 
> Trigger warning! Major panic attack and slight discussion of depression/depressive behaviours. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

"Hello, Draco." Harry Potter said. Draco looked at the window and smiled, small and sad. The door shut and footsteps approached, full of longing and desperation, taken with hesitant joy. He was trying to gauge Draco's reaction, to see who he had become, to see if had even changed.

"Hello, Harry." He said, evenly, calculated. He would not step a single toe out of line, not in this first encounter. Harry paused briefly behind him. Carry on as usual, Draco was sure that was the thought going through Harry's head, because he knew that Draco hated to dwell too long on meaningless things, and that the only reason he should ever bring it up was if Draco himself had started the conversation on a sanctioned topic.

"What are you reading?" It was underwhelming and so mundane that Draco laughed. He laughed becuase they had been through an entire war, watched people die, some what they had too, and after months of separation, the first question Harry would pose to Draco would be angled at his book. Harry laughed a little too, coming to sit by him on the window seat.

"Crime and punishment." They gazed at each other for a long while, studying the other's face. Harry looked at him with such longing and gentle passion that Draco wanted to run the other way.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry asked. Polite society and the revels that came with it, the joyous red and silver.

"Only if you don't say something stupid." Draco said, and Harry leaned in putting his rough hands on Draco's sharp jawline, his lips on Draco's lips. It was nice like that, comfortable, familiar for both of them like it were a muscle memory, like riding a bike. They both smiled into the kiss, like friends.

"You sure I can't say anything stupid?" Harry whispered into Draco's lips. Draco pushed into him gently with long delicate fingers that wove themselves through Harry's thick hair, the other hand against the hard of his chest.

"I'm sure." He muttered. Harry didn't seem to mind so much, pushing harder into Draco, one hand on his waist, the other on his neck, tracing glimpses of his collar bone with his thumb steadily.

"I don't care." Harry whispered into the crook of his neck, soft skin, perfect alabaster. "I love you." And this once, just this once as Harry kissed his neck with as much adoration as someone could, Draco decided to just let it go.

When waking up, Draco liked to be perfect, to look perfect in the case of anyone being there, and so upon waking up, he sat up slowly, beautifully, and stretched with yawning joints and yearning thoughts. He was glad to find himself in the solace of his own bed, the silk sheets beginning to pool at his waist as he slowly roused, but could not think for the life of him upon how he came to be there. Blaise, thankfully was not in his bed, and he could hear the slow sounds of breathing from across the room drifting above the long curtains of the bed, noises which he knew belonged to him.

It ought to have been a Saturday, Draco thought to himself whilst gathering his limbs into a solid ball on the bed. His book wasn't in there with him, and so he searched his bedside table, pulling the silk gently back to reveal slithers of the room, bathed in the weak soft light of the early morning. It was a pretty room, especially so in the morning light that dappled it ever so, like a clearing in the wood with weeping trees that obscured the sun's gaze.

Ah, he thought to himself as the previous night's events came back to him in a haze of alcohol. Drunk sex was something he knew very well, despite his insistence that it would not happen again. He always got to this point, but it was fine. He hated himself enough to let it happen, so it didn't matter all that much.

"Malfoy." A voice said from the other side of the room. It was the Weasel, glaring at him from the safety of bed.

"What are you on about? We share a room, Weasel, get over yourself." Was his curt response, and a snort of laughter came from Blaise's bed. Weasley gave him such a filthy look that it was almost comical. Harry reached a hand out of his own curtains (this surprised Draco, because normally he slept like the dead)

"Listen, I don't care who we're sharing with, but could you keep it down? I'm trying to sleep, it's Saturday." He muttered, glaring with sleepy eyes and hair that ought to be illegal. Draco just rolled his eyes and slipped out of bed, keeping at least one eye on Weasley in case of any incidents. Weasley stared back with similar intent.

"Blaise, are you around?" It was a stupid question, because he had heard Blaise laugh earlier, but politeness was a valued trait. The curtain drew back to reveal a yawning Blaise, rubbing his eye with his free hand.

"Somewhat." He replied, blinking at the light streaming in.

"Perfect." Draco said, and he climbed through the curtains and onto the bed where Blaise quickly flopped back down onto the pillows, groaning at the early morning. Draco cast a quick 'muffliato' before continuing the conversation.

"Goodness Draco, think of the rumours." Blaise murmured from underneath the sheets, drawing them steadily over his head.

"What, that I'm bi?"

"If they didn't know that already, they should be ashamed." He muttered.

"It's almost like I didn't need that muffliato." Draco snarked. Blaise's foot hit his thigh from beneath the sheets, and the lump that was Blaise turned over. It suddenly hit Draco. "Oh, hangover then?" In fairness, Blaise had drank almost an entire bottle of whiskey last night. "What ever will your homework look like?" Hangover potions were banned in school on the principal that alcohol was also banned. Blaise let out a groan.

"Leave me alone." He muttered, but it sounded slurred and lazy.

"Really? I was about to offer to check the homework you did whilst drunk."

"You're going to do that anyway because you think it's funny." Draco laughed.

"Oh, you know me so well." Draco reached through the curtains, drawing them back slowly, slipping out and not even wincing when the cold stone met his feet. On Blaise's desk was only one roll of parchment, so Draco took that to be it and nabbed it. "Alright, want me to read this to you?" He asked once back inside the safety and warmth of the bed's curtains.

"Your voice hurts." Blaise muttered, his cue to shut up. Draco didn't care.

"You think my voice is sexy. Oh look, you start off alright with the date in somewhat neat cursive, but it goes bit downhill from there." Blaise groaned at him, thumping his leg beneath the covers again. Draco laughed and sighed, leaning forward and kicking his legs back so that he was lying on his stomach, head near Blaise's feet, reading the parchment, chin propped up on his hand. The reading was followed by lazy flicks of the wand to change points, handwriting and language to ensure it was on par with the rest of his work. Blaise reached out through the covers and gently took Draco's ankle, rubbing it softly with his thumb.

"Draco." His voice was steadier, less marred with sleep. Draco had no idea how he'd managed to wake up underneath the covers like that, but it was a quality that he bizarrely seemed to posses.

"Blaise." He said back, smiling a little. Blaise sighed and the parchment rustled. He poked the top of his head outside of the quilt, eyes becoming visible.

"Draco," He said, sighing again. "Please talk to me." Draco went deadly still, not even shaking, just watching Blasie with his venomous grey eyes that screamed 'don't finish that thought'. Both of them knew Draco wasn't going to move, to say anything until Blaise either played it off or made a move. It was a stalemate, and they both knew it. Neither of them made the first move, and in the recess of his psyche, Draco knew he was to much of a coward to make it when it was against Blaise. "I know," He sighed, "I know you're depressed. You hide it well, but we're your best friends." He looked at Draco with such soft eyes that they almost didn't suit his face.

"We're?" Draco whispered, deadly silent and poised.

"Did you really think Pansy didn't know too? We've known for a while we just," He broke of, pulling himself up more, rubbing his hand over his face. "We just never mentioned it. We thought you'd tell us." Draco withdrew his leg silently and in long, snake like motions. Blaise let it go easily. He looked at Draco. "You're like a dancer when you move like that."

"Let it go." He hissed at Blaise. His shoulders sagged sadly, and he gazed at Draco with sorrowful eyes, as if he were the one confessing his sadness.

"Love-" He said. Draco snapped his head to the side in a hard, angular movement, seething with unseelie rage, though it wasn't even aimed at Blaise, just at anything. You never let them see you upset, he thought to himself, so turn your sadness into anger and become an unstoppable foe. His body ached and his bones cracked as the resentment swarmed inside him in the shape of ugly vines, latching onto everything they could. His ribs broke and crumbled, his lungs constricted by a force that wasn't even there, rooting itself in the crevasse of his heart, though it had always been in there and he knew it, only now it hurt, it hurt like someone gripping him so tightly with a binding love that wasn't really love anymore, just suffocating agony that curled and creaked in his joints, whispering poison nothings into the blood that wasn't his blood, like hands on his neck, lips on his ear telling him he would fix everything, just not telling him how and dragging him down to the lake that was so familiar, like it was cold and calm, but it wasn't because the current tore him apart and leeched into him like fire, and it was so far away from his serenity that he didn't know which way was out, like he was drowning, but would be drowning forever without ever seeing the light at the top of the lake. Like he'd never see the moonlight again, never tilt his head back into the silence of the night and drink the sky, see his name etched in the stars. It was so dark now, and it felt crushing in the midst of the current, and he was willing for it to feel like the lake again, but it was hard when it felt like you were dying but would never cease to live. It wasn't as fast anymore, not now when the anger was fading, he'd already gotten here, but it still felt crushing and breathless, and the hands felt red hot on his skin. It was just stifling and empty. He floated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please do leave a comment about anything, I love reading them!
> 
> Fact of the chapter: Most of this was actually written in an astronomy lecture as well as ancient history lecture with my brother (he provides some very fun P.O.V's), and I can recommend not to ignore important lectures in favour of writing fanfic, because now I have no idea what is happening in my course, but my teacher absolutely loves me so I recon I'll be fine.


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